Chapter Twelve

It was Juliette who broke the silence.

“You have a sister?” she demanded, striding over to look at the record book for herself.

“She had a sister,” Logan corrected, shaking his head. “According to this, Rosemary Elway died when you were two years old.”

I stared at my hands, pressed flat against the surface of the table. The coolness of the metal was seeping into the flesh of my palms, but that was about all I could feel. The rest of my body was a numb shell, and even my heart seemed to have stopped beating.

“This can't be right,” I murmured, my voice hollow. “If I had a sister, my mother would have told me.”

I could feel Logan's hesitation even before he answered.

“I don't know if she really would have, not necessarily,” he said. “I mean, you were a baby; you wouldn't remember. Undoubtedly, the death was hard on her, and she wouldn't have wanted to talk about it. And once you were old enough to understand, how would she approach you with it? 'Oh, and by the way, you had a sister named Rosemary who drowned in a lake ten years ago'? It would be hard, and she probably figured that you didn't need to know.”

As Logan's words sunk in, I was not consoled but rather angered, and a feeling of fury kindled a flame in the pit of my stomach.

I snorted. “Didn't need to know?” I spat. “Please. This my family we're talking about, Logan. My sister. I deserve to know about it, no matter what happened.”

“I know, I know that.” Logan held up his hands, looking tired. “You're right. All I was trying to do was give you a logical reason why she might have kept that from you.”

I gritted my teeth. Logical. Of course it was logical, because Logan was always logical. And maybe he was right—in fact, he probably was. But I didn't want him to be, not about this. I didn't want to deal with all the possible implications that Rosemary's existence would have.

Hissing out a hot whoosh of air, I let my hands slip into clenched fists in my lap. I took another breath, then another, thinking that it would help release some anger.

It didn't.

Looking back, I don't know why I got so mad. What had he done, really? He was just being himself, being Logan, but I was a fuse burned far too low. Every word he said only served to further ignite my anger, until I swear my skin sparked like hot coals.

“You can't rationalize everything, Logan,” I said. “Don't you understand that sometimes, things just don't work that way? I don't want your goddamn logic; I want to talk to my mother and make her tell me what the hell is going on!”

My voice grew consistently louder as I spoke, until I was on my feet and practically shouting into Logan's face. He drew back, freckles popping against blanched skin.

“So why don't you?” he demanded. “Why don't you go ask her and find out that I'm right?”

“Because she's not here!” I shrieked. “Because she left on a random business trip and wouldn't tell me where she's going, and now I won't see her tomorrow night, that's why!”

Logan fell silent immediately.

“An overnight business trip?” he asked slowly. “As in, she's going out of town and leaving you by yourself for an entire night?”

I shook my head. “Aubrey is staying over. But it was totally random—just out of nowhere, she came in and told me that she was leaving. And when I asked her where, she didn't answer. She didn't answer, Logan. She even looked nervous when she was talking to me.”

With arms crossed, I watched Logan think that over, the cogs in his brain whirling. Juliette stood between us, her eyes darting back and forth. We had all but forgotten her presence, but she was still there, watching.

Gradually, as the moments passed, I felt all the anger ebb out of me. When it did, my mind was quickly unclouded, and I suddenly began to connect the dots in my brain, using everything that had happened in the past few days to piece together a jigsaw puzzle. The unveiled reality hit me all at once, nearly knocking me off my feet with its sheer intensity.

The first thing was my mother's conversation with Chief Harding. Mary, he'd said. But not Mary; Rosemary. Not only that, but her slip of tongue only a few days before, not to mention her refusal to keep rosemary spices in our house. She'd called me Rose, and who else could that be?

Number two was the necklace in the attic. Rosemary had worn it, and she must have lost it up there at some point, before I found it. My mother had wanted me to get rid of it, and now I understood why: it had belonged to her drowned daughter.

Number three: Edith Hummel. Both Rosemary and I, it seemed, were connected to the old woman. In my dream (Rosemary's memory?), Mrs. Hummel had warned my sister about something that was coming. On more than one occasion, she had said the same thing to me. But what was coming?

I thought back to my first dream about Rosemary, when I still couldn't see her face. If she was my sister, would that make the dreams memories? And would that mean the woman in the kitchen was my mother?

The woman had become upset when she saw the drawing that Rosemary was showing me, the one of the girl in the darkness, surrounded by shadows. And in the latter part of the dream, I'd seen the very same scene happening, but to my sister: the dark tendrils reaching out to her, grabbing her, choking her.

That was years ago. But now, all this time later, the same thing was happening to me.

“Parker,” Logan said, breaking my reverie, “do you think your mom's trip has something to do with Rosemary?”

I shook my head, feeling a headache quickly forming. “I don't know,” I told him honestly. “I don't know why it would.” Running a hand through my hair, I sighed. I stared at him, and he stared at me, our eyes connected in the heavy air. “But I do know one thing,” I added, glancing down at the open record book. “There's something going on here that's bigger than any of us know.”

◙════════════◙

It had begun to snow again by the time we left the library, so Logan drove me and Juliette home in the downpour. All I could do, as we maneuvered through the white-frosted streets, was stare at the falling snow and wonder if it had been snowing when Rosemary died.

In truth, I wasn't sure what to think about everything, about the way it all connected, yet left so many gaps at the same time. I knew who Rosemary was, now—my dreams about her were nothing more than dredged up memories. As to what elicited the influx, though, I had no idea.

While mulling over the many things that I had no idea about, I came across a thought of those strange men I had seen. One in front of Stella's house. One across the street from the general store. One leering at me in the bar. Besides the suits, which I'd for sure seen on two of them, all three men had the same distinguishing feature: polished obsidian eyes.

But who were they? Were they even real? I know I'd felt one of them staring at me in that Butler Starbucks, but Aubrey and Logan hadn't seen a thing. And whilst walking Zipper, someone had been watching me—I was certain of it, and Zipper's tenseness backed me up. But I had seen no one. Unless I was being pursued by the Violet from The Incredibles, the penguin-suited men made no sense. However, I didn't think it was a coincidence that they began to appear right after the paralysis dreams began, and right before I first saw my sister. Maybe (probably) it was all in my head, but my subconscious had somehow linked Rosemary Elway to those men.

Just then, the car came to a stop, stalling in a drift between mine and Juliette's houses. Juliette popped the back door and hopped out, letting in an icy gust of air.

“Bye, guys,” she said ruefully, pulling her coat tighter. She'd had a wide-eyed look since we'd left the library, and it didn't seem to be going away. “Thanks for the ride, Logan.”

“Sure.”

Logan and I waved, watching as Juliette mounted her front steps and slipped inside. Neither of her parents were home, judging by her empty driveway, but her two younger brothers were probably holed up inside, playing video games and fighting over controllers.

Sighing, I leaned my head back against the passenger seat, unfastening my seatbelt and letting it dangle back against the side of the car. It was too much, all of it, and I was dead tired. There were midterms tomorrow, exams I'd hardly studied for, and now I had the problem of my sister to infest my mind until my mom came home and I could question her. I'd already tried calling her cellphone twice on the way home, but it went straight to voicemail without a single ring.

“Parker, you getting out?” Logan's voice reached me through exhausted haze, drawing me back to reality with a groan. Somehow, I managed to look him in the eye with a wry smile.

“Are you saying that you want me to leave?” I demanded playfully, though there was more lethargy than jest in my voice. My best friend didn't laugh, anyway; he just lowered his hands on the steering wheel and gave me a look of concern.

“You can come over, if you want,” he said. “When Aubrey gets home, you guys can just drive over to your place.”

I had to admit, the offer was tempting. I thought I'd enjoy being alone, but the idea of being in my stone cold, empty house in the middle of snow was sounding worse and worse by the second.

“Or you could hang out here,” I suggested, a hopeful look slipping onto my features.

But Logan shook his head. “I can't, I have to study. There's an art history test tomorrow, too, and all my stuff is at home.”

“I have to study, too.” Letting out a breath, I crossed my arms and pressed my lips together, staring out at my snow-dusted house that looked like something out of the postcard. I caught sight of my reflection in one of the side mirrors; my damp, tangled hair, kohl-rimmed eyes, ruby lips. The girl I saw staring back at me didn't look like Rosemary—she wasn't pure and innocent, just raggedy and rebellious and confused. Yet we were sisters, practically two sides of the same coin.

“Logan, can I ask you something?” I questioned, closing my eyes again and wrapping my arms around my torso.

He paused, sounding hesitant as he replied, “Sure?”

“Well.” I licked my lips. “I just wanted to know why you helped me. Why did you go out of your way to find out who Rosemary is when you could have been studying?”

Logan slipped a little laugh, as if the answer to my question should have been obvious.

“For one thing,” he said, “I was curious. I looked at that picture of Rosemary and kept seeing your face and I had to know. But mostly, it's just because you're my best friend, Parker. I saw how upset you were, and I thought maybe this would somehow make you feel better.”

“Oh!” I injected a note of brightness into my tone, feeling a little warmth growing in my stomach.

He tilted his head and peered at me, forcing my eyes apart to look at him. “You should know that already, though. Why do you sound surprised?”

“Uh...” With my mouth still slightly ajar, I paused. I didn't know why I was surprised. But at the same time, I did. I knew exactly why, and it was more that I was too unsure of myself to say it out loud.

It was a long, daunting moment before I could knit words from the mess in my head.

“Well, see, it's just that”—I swallowed hard—“you really haven't even looked at me since...”

I didn't stop talking on purpose; my mind just went quiet. The words died before leaving my throat, plunging us into a stuttering silence.

“Since what?” Logan asked quietly. His hands were resting on his knees.

I shook my head, pointing my gaze to the dirty car floor. “Nothing, I—”

“Since what, Parker?”

I stared at him, and he stared at me, and I felt a crimson blush creep its way onto my cheeks. And even though I knew this subject was the least important thing right now, I also knew that it was something that we'd eventually have to address, whether I wanted to or not. So as Logan watched me, I let the words fall weakly from my lips.

“Since you kissed me.”

I looked back at Logan, and he was frowning, his green eyes wide. “That was a mistake,” he whispered immediately. “That wasn't supposed to happen."

Without warning, his words sent a cruel stiletto through my heart. I don't know why I cared, because we were best friends and that sort of thing wasn't supposed to matter. But it did, and that response practically knocked the breath from my lungs.

“Mistake?” I echoed.

He swallowed, nodded, and grumbled, “I didn't mean to. It just...happened.”

It just happened.

As in, he didn't mean it? As in, he hadn't wanted to kiss me? I wasn't sure if I had wanted him to, but he did, and that had to mean something. I wasn't sure if I even wanted it to mean something. Because at that moment, my heart was pounding and blood was rushing through my ears in a flood of residual emotion, and I wasn't quite surewhat I wanted at all.

“So you didn't want to kiss me,” I said flatly, a note of pain finding its way into my voice.

“No, no, I did, I just—”

“You did?” I mentally berated myself for how curiously hopeful I sounded.

Logan's face flushed scarlet, and he raked a nervous hand through his hair before responding. “Yeah, I did,” he murmured gruffly. “I just—I didn't know what you would think, and I didn't want to seem stupid, but you were right there, and I couldn't help it, so I just—”

He took a big gulp of air, and I turned to him with eyebrows raised. Despite myself, despite everything, I felt a small grin slip onto my lips at his familiar, winded distress.

“Look,” he said, once he'd composed himself, “I know that with your nightmares and finding out about your sister, this is the last conversation you want to be having. And I know that I'm making this awkward for both of us, especially because you're my best friend, and this isn't something we should be talking about. But—I wanted to kiss you. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did, and I wanted it to, because for some unexplained reason I have feelings for you. Which is really weird, I know that, and I apologize, but it's the truth.”

Silence. When Logan finished, there was silence. He was watching me nervously, and I was watching snow fall onto the front windshield, creating a thick white blanket that darkened the inside of the car. It was getting cold, too. I felt the chill seeping through my sweater.

“You should probably turn on the windshield wipers,” I mumbled. Logan looked confused for a second, then gave a little start, quickly twisting the key in the ignition and starting the engine. A moment later, the windshield wipers were clearing snow from the glass. The radio started, too, softly playing a familiar pop song.

I cleared my throat. “I'm glad you told me that,” I admitted, rubbing my arms. “I haven't really had time to think about it all, and I'm not really sure what my feelings are, but—I think I liked it.”

A pause. “Liked what?”

I hiccuped an anxious laugh. “Kissing you.”

The car's interior was getting steadily warmer, but I don't think that was the reason for the heat that rose to both mine and Logan's cheeks. “Oh,” he murmured, pulling a hand through his hair. “That's—er—good.”

I nodded, but said nothing. Logan tapped his hand against the steering wheel, humming along to the radio. I couldn't decide what to think of the moment. By all logic, the amount of worry I was putting into a silly kiss was ridiculous. Except that it didn't feel like a silly kiss. It felt like new, foreign territory, and I was standing there with one foot in and one foot out, trying to figure out whether to dive in or go running back the way I came.

“I'm sorry,” I said belatedly, haltingly. “For putting you on the spot like that.”

Logan wrung his hands. “Thanks,” he muttered. “And I'm sorry too.”

“For what?” I eyed him carefully, crossing my arms across my chest.

“For kissing you again.”

Oh. Wait, what?

“But you—”

I didn't get to finish my sentence. Logan was leaning toward me, closing distance faster than I could speak. I was inching closer, too, without meaning to, until our noses were nearly touching. And as an effusive sigh of breath escaped me, our lips brushed oh-so carefully. It was a gentle kiss, cautious and fleeting, but it triggered a foreign rush of fluttering wings against my ribcage.

We pulled away after a heartbeat, and this time I saw the corners of Logan's lips twitch up into a half smile. “Sorry,” he repeated, not sounding sorry at all.

I smirked; he had a smear of lipstick across his mouth. “No need to apologize,” I said, opening the car door and hopping out onto the snowy ground. “Also.” Laughing to myself, I pulled a tissue from the box on Logan's dashboard and smeared it across his face, removing the traces of red. He blushed as I tossed it at him, but I just smiled over my stuttering heartbeat and said, “You're welcome.”

As I was mounting the front steps of my house, huddling against the wind, Logan's voice called me back. I turned around, confused, and squinted through the fine, ivory mist to see him in the rolled-down window, holding something in one hand and beckoning me with the other. Wrinkling my nose, I dashed back through the snow on icy toes and stuck my head through the passenger window.

“W-what?” I chattered, my breath clouding in front of me. Logan didn't seem to notice how cold I was; he just held out his clenched fist to me.

“What?” I repeated, this time with growing impatience. It was freezing—I was freezing—and this was not a time to be having a friendly conversation outside.

“I found this in my car the other day,” he said, “and I've been meaning to ask you about it but I kept forgetting. Is it yours?”

As I looked at him expectantly, Logan unfurled his fingers. And lying in the palm of his hand, sparkling, gold, and familiar, was Rosemary's mirror necklace.

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A/N: Dedicated to Charlotte because she's awesome and Asian which basically means the same thing as awesome so there you go. ;)

and oh look more Larker