Whisper Down the Lane by Clay Chapman (inspiring books for teens txt) 📕

She keeps asking me who I am, but what about her?

Who was she?

What if…? What if Tamara was one of them?

One of the Others?

I just got into the car with a complete stranger, forgetting every warning we were told as children. All this time, for our entire relationship, what if she always knew I was Sean? Asking that one simple question opens a floodgate of others. They begin with a trickle, the queries dribbling from my head. But more questions come rushing in. They won’t stop now.

What if Sean is the reason Tamara was with me in the first place? What if she was tending to me? Holding onto me until the others were ready? How else could she have fallen in love with me? All this time, all this time, she knew, she knew I was Sean because…how else?

How else could she have ever loved someone like me?

The scar along her arm. The story she told me. What if that’s not really how she got it? What if she received the burn? What if she was branded? Marked? Isn’t that what they do? I know it’s not true, that it couldn’t possibly be true, but—what if? That’s all I have now. This nagging sense of doubt echoes through my head, Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif…

What about the cardboard box? The remnants of Hank left out in the garage? Tamara must’ve known I’d go through his belongings. She wanted me to find them.

What if she wanted me to become him?

The two of us stare at each other like we’ve never known each other at all.

“What do you want from me?”

Tamara’s face tightens. “Excuse me?”

“How did you find me?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“How long have you known? What are you going to do—”

She slams her fist against my shoulder. “Get out. Get out of my fucking car!” She reels her fist back and starts punching. Aiming for my face. My ear. My chest. She won’t stop shouting. Her fists hit whatever part of me she can find. Clawing at me now. Scraping my neck. I can’t help but feel the slightest sense of relief, like I’m standing in a rainstorm after languishing in the sun for hours, the steady shower rinsing the sweat from my skin. I could have sat there and let her crush me. Obliterate me into a million pieces of flesh and bone. Until there’s nothing left.

I want it. Need her to destroy me.

“Get out get out GET OUT!”

I finally open the door and spill onto the shoulder. I hit the ground. Gravel digs into my arm, cutting me. Picking myself up, I stare back at Tamara as she turns the ignition.

“Tamara—”

“Don’t come near my son ever again!”

My son. Not two days ago he had been so close to becoming our son.

Gone now.

Tamara speeds off without shutting the door. The tires kick up loose gravel before the Jeep reaches the pavement and screeches away. I stand at the side of the road, watching her go.

I’m not alone.

Across the street, a couple is just leaving the farmers market. They’re dressed to match—him in a slate-gray cashmere cardigan and her in a mock turtleneck sweater of the same hue. She’s carrying a tote bag full of freshly shucked corn. Strands of silk still cling to the ears. At this distance, it looks like hair. Blonde hair. Wisps spill over the brim and flutter in the wind.

When the road is clear, the man releases the woman’s hand and runs across the street. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” I feel my knees buckle, my legs weakening, unable to hold the rest of myself up. I start to list. The man grabs my arm before I fall. “I just need to…need to…”

A sob escapes my mouth. It comes from deep within my chest.

“Hey—it’s okay. I got you. You’re not alone.”

Not alone. He says it calmly, so reassuringly. He wants me to feel safe. I lose myself in his clean-shaven face. Not a nick on his chin. His skin still has the remnants of a summer tan. But somehow I can’t put his features together. His face is a puzzle to me, scattered about.

“It’s Richard, right?”

I pull out from his grip and stumble back. “How do you know my name?”

“Whoa. Easy now.” He holds his hands up in placating gesture, as if to assure me that everything’s just fine, that this is all just a big misunderstanding. That I’m not alone.

“This is, uh…weird. But…” He lets out an awkward chuckle. “Sorry. This isn’t how I expected this to go, but…I’m Hank.”

He holds out his hand for me.

“I’m Elijah’s father,” he offers. His hand remains open for me to take. “Or…I was. I’ve been…I’ve been thinking about reaching out to Tamara lately but could never figure out the timing.”

My stomach turns over. I knew I’d seen him at the fair. I knew it. “What do you want from us?”

Hank’s expression hitches. “Look, this isn’t how I thought this would all go down. My girlfriend and I—” He turns to the woman across the street, watching us. She switches her tote from one hand to the next. The decapitated head inside must be getting heavy. “—live in Mechanicsville. I didn’t know Tamara and Eli were living here—or, hell, that she even got remarried. I just filled in the gaps with Facebook after I saw you two together.”

He offers up a reassuring smile, as if to say, Trust me.

“I don’t know what Tamara’s told you,” he continues. “I’m sure it’s not pretty. But I’ve cleaned up since we were together. Did a solid stint in rehab. Now I’m in the program. Been spending the last year or so trying to make amends and just…I feel like it can’t be an accident that I’m here in the same town as her and Eli.”

Can’t be an accident.

“Look, I can tell this is a bad time. Why don’t we just exchange numbers and maybe I—”

“Stay away.” None of this is coincidence. None of this is by chance. He’s a part of this. He’s