The Heir Read online

  SHAD HAD BEEN TEACHING me for most of the math period, and while I loved how he scooted his chair so close to mine so that they almost touched and that when he leaned over my work I could smell his scent of mint and leather, I also felt like an idiot because math and I seemed to hate each other, and I hated that Shad saw this weakness of mine. Every time our fingers brushed or our shoulders touched, jolts flowed through my body, and I tried to calm myself down, but I was finding it extremely difficult with that made up song blaring in my head, ever on repeat. I really felt like I was losing it. Shad chuckled as if he could sense my internal struggle.

  “Here, let me show you.” He took his pencil, sketched out the problem, graphing the equation in just one minute. I leaned back in my chair, frustrated.

  “Well, easy for you without the song. I can barely think in here,” I said, irritated, tapping my skull. Shad looked at me, and I clasped a hand over my mouth.

  “Song? Are you listening to music or something?” he asked, confused as he looked at my ears. I tried to think of something, anything to say that could explain my stupid words.

  “Uh, no, I mean, no music. I just have a song I heard on the radio this morning stuck in my head, and I cannot get it out.” I shrugged, giving myself a mental pat on the back for that one. Good job, Emma, I smiled, extremely proud.

  “What song?” He asked, coming dangerously near me. I groaned inwardly. Of course, he would be curious.

  “Oh, that is the thing; I cannot remember the name or the words, just the melody and harmony.”

  Shad’s eyebrows rose; his lips puckered as if in curious thought. “Hum it,” he requested, pulling away and crossing his arms across his chest. “If in fact this is keeping you from grasping this equation, let me help you.” He looked extremely amused, and it irritated me, because I was trying not to look like an idiot, and he seemed not to get the memo.

  “Oh, no, really—you do not have to do that. I am not a good singer, and I have no tone, so you wouldn't even know the song; plus, I just think it isn't that important. Not like, music isn't important or the song in general—because it is. I mean, it is important to me, but I think that, well—” I closed my mouth, forcing the words to stop.

  Shad chuckled, “I love that.”

  “What?”

  “Love it when you explain things. No one talks quite like you.”

  I stared at him as the bell rang, and students shuffled around us, packing up their bags and heading to the cafeteria for lunch. The metal chairs screeched on the floor, backpacks zipped, the chatter of hungry teenagers was all drowned out as I stared into his eyes. The next moment, however, he broke the connection and stood, putting his things inside his backpack. I quickly followed his example and gathered up my things. He stood there waiting at the door, and as I placed my backpack on my shoulders, I watched him smile at me, then walk out the door backwards to keep his eyes on me for a little while longer; then I watched as he waved, turned around, and was lost in the crowd of students shuffling down the hallway.

  “SO, WE ARE STILL ON for today, right?” Ryker asked, sliding next to me at the lunch table.

  I looked up at him and nodded, not able to control the crazy thoughts spinning around in my brain. How had Ryker been in that letter? It wasn’t possible. Maybe my father had another friend named Ryker? Although that was a possibility, I was not shoving aside the truth: Ryker was not a common name. “Of course,” I said quickly.

  “Awesome,” he returned, placing a cold hand on my shoulder. I tried to be nonchalant about the chill that ran down my arm at his touch. I frowned because his touch was still not warm and comforting.

  “What’s today?” Sam asked, as he tossed his sack lunch onto the table and sat down across from us. He was soon followed by more football players, and I had to admit, I was not super into sitting with such a large crowd. I did remind myself of operation make-everyone-think-I-am-fine and made a point to smile at each of them and give a little wave.

  “Oh, Emma has been waiting all week to hang out with yours truly. Sorry about all of my practices getting in the way.” He winked in my direction as he put his cool arm around me.

  Honestly? I did not miss you as much as I usually do. Sorry, Ryker. Shad is filling my thoughts twenty-four-seven. Speaking of which, where is Shad? I tried to peer over the table to look at the cafeteria doors. Maybe I could catch him walking in. You just saw him last period, Emma. Chill out.

  “My parents are out for the night,” Ryker said a little too loudly, and I just nodded because I knew his parents worked a lot. I looked around the table for Ash. As I did, I noticed that the guys all looked at Ryker and gave him head tilts, shoulder high-fives, and fist bumps as if he had just won the championship game. Puzzled, I took a bite of my sandwich.

  “So what are you guys going to do?” One black-haired boy asked with a smirk.

  Another one with brown hair punched his shoulder and said: “DUDE!”

  “We are just going to hang at his house,” I said, irritated. Did we have to sit with the football team? Ryker squeezed my knee, and I looked at him. His eyes locked on mine as if to say: I am sorry about them. I smiled my fake, warm smile, that he knew meant—you owe me. I looked up finally, seeing Ash as she bounced into the seat beside Sam with her customary gleaming smile.

  “Hey guys.” I watched as the football players looked her over. She looked at her lunch, oblivious to their stares.

  “Hey,” Sam said to her. “You are in my Science class, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am,” Ash said, taking a bite out of her classic PB&J combo.

  “We should sit together.”

  “Yeah, sounds good,” she agreed after she was done chewing.

  I looked to Ryker to see if he noticed Sam’s obvious attention directed at Ash, but he was staring at me. He is no help.

  Third and fourth period dragged. The only positive about fourth period was that I saw Shad again. I didn’t get to talk to him in that class, but it didn’t matter because I had a perfect view of him for the entire period. I was grateful that my teacher had placed him in my line of sight of the whiteboard. Every time Shad caught me looking at him, I acted like I was writing down the questions on the board, which to be honest was what I had been attempting to do all period, but Shad was very distracting.

  After class, I packed up my backpack and threw it over my shoulders. School was over and that meant Ryker and I were going to hang out. I was looking forward to catching up with him; it had been way too long.

  As I walked out the door, I bumped into Shad who stood just outside the door, blocking most of the opening. How I had not noticed Shad standing there was beyond me. Man you really are distracted today, Emma. Get it together.

  He turned, and his golden eyes met mine, and I tried not to smile the biggest smile I owned because that would be creepy, wouldn’t it? We stared at each other, the song yet again drowning out the noise of students walking in the hallway beyond.

  “Have any plans this weekend?” he asked as we made it out of the door. He looked hopeful.

  “Yeah, I’m hanging out with Ryker this weekend. You?”

  His hopeful expression faded away, and he spoke: “Hanging out with Keil, then work. Have a good weekend. See you on Monday.” I watched him as he walked away from me until he disappeared in the crowd of students, rushing to get home.

  “Ready?”

  I jumped when I saw Ryker suddenly at my side, smiling at me. What is wrong with me? Why am I so spastic? “Yep,” I said in irritation.

  Ryker chuckled and grabbed my hand as he led me through students in the parking lot to the sidewalk. I tried to ignore the feeling of his hand in mine, tried to ignore how his touch was warm this time and yet not the same at all compared to the jolt within Shad’s touch. I tried not to compare, but it was difficult not to when the feelings were so different, and Shad obviously won. We walked down the street, leading to our neighborhood: mine, Ryker’s, and Shad’s.

  “So, my parents aren't
home, so we have some privacy.”

  “Okay, yeah. I heard you at lunch, but why do we need privacy?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you in a while?” he shrugged.

  “Okay, so what are we going to do?”

  “Watch a movie?” He asked.

  “Another movie, really—don’t you get tired of that? That is what we did for two weeks straight after you got home from your trip.”

  “What? I thought you liked watching movies with me.” He gave me a pouty bottom lip.

  I shoved his shoulder. “No, I tolerate watching movies with you because I love you.”

  He stopped walking and looked into my eyes, his face suddenly very serious.

  “What?” I asked confused.

  He shook his head and smiled at me “Thanks, Em. I love you, too,” he whispered reverently.

  “Okay, fine, Ry—I will watch a movie with you, just as long as it’s not a horror movie.”

  “Yeah, no, of course,” he assured me. We walked through his front door and down the hall, reaching the bedroom opposite where mine would be in my house. Ryker grabbed the door handle and turned to me. “I just want to warn you a little that well—” he stopped and ran a hand across his face in irritation. “I have been doing some research, and don’t think I am crazy, okay?”

  “Okay. What class of yours already has a project? Are we watching the movie in your room? You are acting weird,” I added, thinking that there could be nothing else that could shock me. He nodded, not answering my questions and opened the door. I walked inside, still confused.

  His room was large and spacious because he had very little furniture: one twin size bed, one small dresser, and one desk on the opposite wall. I knew his room well; however, there was a new addition. The entire large expanse of the wall where the desk stood was covered, ceiling to floor, with papers. I gawked. Surprise—for the hundredth time today. Wait, is Ryker one of those stalker-killer types in horror movies? It would have been hard not to gawk when I felt like I just stepped into a movie, yes, one of those horror-stalker movies.

  “Okay, so I know, it is a bit much, but there is something about having all my research in one place and being able to always see it.”

  I nodded because that was all I could do. I looked at a piece of paper that was the beginning of a timeline with dates blacked out. “What is this?” I pointed to the paper.

  “I was mapping out any previous attempts.”

  “Attempts?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He looked at his feet and shuffled.

  “What is this, Ry?” I asked, moving down the wall to news clippings of car crashes. I stopped when I saw news clippings from that night, the night my world changed. I froze and felt the old, nearly forgotten snake coil inside of me again, restricting my breathing, and I gasped, clutching at my heart. It had been so long, it seemed, since I had felt its presence inside me. I wanted to scream and cut it out of me.

  “Are you okay, Em?” he asked, holding my elbow before I fell over.

  Good thinking there, Ry.

  “Ry, what is this—” I ordered rather than asking, my voice shaking.

  “I know your parents were murdered, Em.”

  I looked at him, his eyes pleading with me to listen, to not run away. Murdered?

  Murdered—

  Murdered—

  Murdered—

  The word echoed inside of my head over and over again. I repeated it so many times that it started to sound strange, started to sound like it was something else entirely. No, it isn’t possible; it was a hit and run, most likely a big semi-truck that didn’t notice us. I looked at him, wanting to know more about what he knew, of what he had learned—and yet, not wanting to know anything at all.

  “What?” I said almost speechless.

  “It doesn’t make sense what happened, how it happened,” he ran his fingers through his hair. He shook his head. I looked the entire wall over, searching.

  “Did you talk to the police?” I asked as I sat down in his desk chair, still trying to wrap my head around all he was telling me. My parents’ deaths, were murder?

  “Yes, I started with them first, and it was weird. They couldn’t say what happened.” He pulled out a notebook and turned to a page. He held it up to show me in the light. There, I could see a sketch of a man. I looked harder and realized I had seen that man before, but where?

  SUDDENLY, MY MIND TOOK me back, back to the day I hated more than any other day in my life. The car was spinning upside down. It had made its final flip, and I woke up for just a second to see my dad dangling in front of me, bleeding out to the clicks and ticks of his watch. I took in a breath as my memory went blank. Then, as I thought I would open my eyes and see that I was in Ryker’s bedroom again, I was still in the car, and the blood was still splattering on that stupid watch, and I gasped for breath, and my neck hurt, and my leg felt wet and sticky. I looked at my father. His eyes opened, and he said:

  “Emma, I am so sorry,” before his eyes slid closed, and I screamed, blackness surrounded me, and I begged it to stop, begged it to pull me to Ryker, but again, I opened my eyes, seeing my dead father, but this time, I heard voices.

  “Yep, all dead. It’s confirmed.” I saw a boot kick the side of my dad’s car door. I screamed and called out for help. A few moments later, there was a hand reaching for me, and I held it. A face appeared—that face with black eyes and black hair, his nose crooked as if someone had punched him in the face, and it had never healed properly.

  “You okay, Emma? Hold on,” the voice asked in a slight accent.

  “Help,” I croaked. I watched as he somehow got my side of the car door open. Loud scraping and sawing pierced my ears, like the cries of demons. I kept going in and out of consciousness. Then a hand, again reaching inside, unbuckled me, held me, and pulled me from the car. This man set me down on the ground and wrapped his jacket around me.

  “The police will be here soon, Emma. Try to stay calm, alright love?” he said, rubbing his hands over his coat, to keep me from shivering.

  “Okay,” I said in complete shock.

  I SNAPPED BACK, AND I was in Ryker’s room, and he was staring at me.

  “Emma?” He asked me, worry in his eyes.

  “Ryker, this man didn’t kill my parents. He saved my life.”

  “One of the policemen saw him flee the scene and tried to call out to him, but he drove off.”

  “He helped me. He didn’t do it,” I said, pushing the picture away.

  “But that night you told me you saw someone, someone who maybe hit your car.”

  I didn’t remember that, and I was shocked that the sketch had brought back a memory that I hadn’t known I possessed.

  “Are you okay?” Ryker whispered beside me.

  “Yes. I remembered. I had a flashback; my therapist says that can happen.”

  “Emma, I am so sorry.” Ryker moved to sit on the desk.

  “So what are you going to do now?” I asked, trying to gather my thoughts.

  “I need to find him, figure out who he is exactly.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’ve talked to some friends. Even if it wasn’t this man, maybe he saw someone. He is the best lead, and he was there first.”

  “Friends?”

  “Private investigator—and stuff—don't worry about it. The point is that I will figure out who he is, and I will give your parents justice.”

  I nodded, because I was still too shocked by all of it to really think about anything to say.

  He motioned for me to sit on the bed, and I followed him because I was so shaky from the memory and that face, and my father’s face that I could barely breathe, let alone stand for much longer.

  “Thank you, Ry,” I said, falling back against the bed. I felt a shift in the mattress as Ryker laid down beside me. I turned to him, and he tucked me to his side, stroking my back, and the warmth that his touch sent through me at that moment seemed right a
nd wonderful. I buried my head into his chest, trying to stop myself from crying. He kissed the top of my head and lifted my face up to look at him.

  “You sure you are okay? I feel like a horrible person for just springing that on you. I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, his voice low and deep. I could feel the reverberation coming from his chest.

  “I don't know if I will ever be okay,” I answered truthfully.

  He nodded—because what else was there to say?

  Instead of going downstairs, Ryker turned a movie on in his room. It was a musical about princesses and princes and happily-ever-afters, and he only watched it because he said there was a knight in it, too. I threw a pillow at his face.

  “What I am telling you is that knights are clearly the best,” he smiled his boyish smile, and I laughed. It felt so good.

  “Ryker, I read one of my parent’s old letters from before I was born. My dad knew someone named Ryker. How is that possible?”

  Ryker shifted a little. “My dad’s name is also Ryker.”

  “I thought his name was John.”

  “Well, that is his real first name, but his middle name is Ryker, and he used to go by it until I was born. You knew our parents were friends, right?” Ryker asked, as if I was crazy for not knowing.

  But I hadn’t known—I did not know that. In fact, I remembered meeting Ryker in kindergarten, his dad shaking hands with my parents. Wasn’t that a first meeting? But who was I to know? I was only five years old, perhaps they were good friends saying hello again.

  “I mean, come on, Emma. It’s not just because of our friendship that our families were friends. We always went on vacations together, after all.”