Following Me Page 3

  Devon yanked at the front door, and it mercifully opened. She didn’t wait to see if the person behind her was still following her. When she stepped inside, light streamed in all around her, and loud party music filled the room. People were dancing in every inch of space, but no one stopped to look at her.

  As she closed the door behind her, the lights dimmed, and flashes of color bounced off the walls. She reached for the first person she could, but he brushed her off. Every person she tried to speak with after that ignored her completely. It was like she wasn’t even there. Pushing her way through the room, her head was spinning as the volume of the music seemed to increase tenfold.

  What is happening to me? she thought.

  Then, she felt the eyes on the back of her head again. She turned around in a circle, looking for the source, but she found only a sea of other people. If she had thought she hated feeling isolated in a deserted city, then she hated being invisible in a sea of people even more.

  She pushed people out of the way, shoving them like they were rag dolls, until her arms were screaming in pain at her. She couldn’t move fast enough. Her feet were giving out, and her arms were failing her. She couldn’t escape.

  When Devon looked back to see if the person was still pursuing her, she saw a single figure walking directly toward her, but the person was indistinguishable from the dark surroundings. Turning around, she rushed forward with one last bit of effort. She propelled herself through a set of double doors, stepping into a stark white bedroom that blinded her.

  Just when she reached the other side, she felt a person grab a hold of her arm.

  DEVON AWOKE WITH a start, gasping for breath. Her hands clenched into the quilt, her chest heaved up and down, and her body racked with tremors. A cold sweat had drenched through her thin T-shirt, and she shook as the chilly air sank into her skin.

  Where the hell was she?

  Anxiously, she looked around the dark room, searching the unfamiliar space. Whose bed was she in? And why didn’t she recognize this place at all?

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to return to reality. She took another breath, calming her still racing heart, and it came back to her. St. Louis. The train. Hadley. She was staying at Hadley’s place with Hadley’s boyfriend. They’d had dinner and wine. They had gone out drinking afterward, and she had fallen into bed drunk.

  Her stomach grumbled angrily at the memory, and her head throbbed against her scalp. Great. Hangover.

  Her eyes roamed to the red-numbered alarm clock on the dresser.

  Six thirty in the morning.

  Devon still had two or three hours left before she had to get up. She sank back into the comforter, feeling completely emotionally drained.

  It was just a dream. Just a dream. She had to keep telling herself that over and over again. No one was after her. No one was following her.

  Just a dream.

  DEVON JUMPED IN the shower a few hours later. No matter how hard she had tried, she hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. The haunting memory of someone chasing her through the streets had stayed with her. She had emptied the contents of her stomach in the bathroom twice since waking. She was dead tired, and she just wanted to crawl back into bed and crash, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to shut off her brain. As soon as she had tried, everything had rushed back to her all over again.

  She changed into a pair of light jeans and blue tank top, pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and then covered the dark circles under her eyes like an expert. Her head was still aching, despite taking 1,000 milligrams of Tylenol earlier. She knew she needed to eat, but the thought of food sent her stomach into a fit.

  Finally feeling human enough to leave the bedroom, she edged out into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and slowly sipped it.

  “Good morning!” Garrett called cheerfully, walking into the kitchen.

  Devon jumped and immediately regretted it. “Is it?”

  “Well, probably not for you. I heard you getting sick earlier. Feeling any better?” He opened the refrigerator door.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “How are you so cheerful?”

  “Product of working nights, I guess. When I get a good night’s sleep, I’m a much happier person.”

  “Right.” She took another tentative sip of her drink.

  “Are you going to be able to go sightseeing today?” he asked, pulling out a full banquet of food.

  The night before, they had agreed that Garrett would take her around the city while Hadley had to work. Devon really wanted the chance to be a tourist while she was here, but she knew that she wouldn’t get to see everything if she waited for Hadley to get home.

  “Not sure,” she said, walking into the living room. She sat on the couch and put her head between her knees. Seeing that much food was making her want to run to the bathroom again.

  “Well, I’ll whip you up something that will make you feel better, and we can get going.”

  “You really don’t have to show me around…or make me food,” she groaned.

  “Just some toast. Drink up that water. It’ll help,” Garrett said, popping some bread into the toaster.

  “Okay,” she muttered.

  She drank as much as she could manage. He brought her a plate with plain toast and replaced her glass of water with another full one. She took it without comment and tried to choke down the food. It did help some, but she wasn’t a hundred percent better yet. Garrett had created an elaborate breakfast plate for himself, and he ate it all in the same amount of time it took for her to finish her toast.

  She tried standing again. The headache was finally dissipating, and her stomach was feeling only partly queasy. She could make it through another day.

  “You ready?” he asked, coming back for her plate.

  “I think so.”

  “Great. We better get going then. Hadley gets off at three thirty today, so we have a good five hours to try to get in the best tourist traps out here before I have to go to work,” Garrett told her.

  “Perfect. If I can make it five hours, it’ll be a miracle,” Devon said. She was happy that she had a tour guide even though Hadley was at work.

  Garrett shook his head at her as he stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. “Come on. It’ll be good for you to get some fresh air.”

  Devon grumbled something incoherent before standing. She grabbed her purse from the table and followed Garrett to the elevator. Riding the elevator might have been the worst part of the morning. Garrett rested a hand on her back as he warily watched her. She was pretty sure he was expecting her to burst any second, and she felt like she might.

  When they finally reached the bottom of the huge complex, Devon uneasily walked out of the elevator.

  “Let’s never do that again,” she murmured, clutching her stomach with one hand.

  “I’ve got bad news for you.”

  Devon glared up at him.

  “Well, at least you won’t have to take the elevator for a few more hours,” Garrett offered.

  “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “So, what did you want to see?” He stood at the entrance, debating which direction to walk in.

  “Everything,” Devon said with a shrug.

  “I don’t think we can see everything by three o’clock.”

  “The bean thing then,” Devon told him.

  “The bean thing?” He looked at her skeptically.

  “Yeah, isn’t that what it’s called? I don’t know. I’ve never been there before,” she stated defensively.

  “Come on. You’ll figure it out,” he said, walking toward the river.

  She started after him, walking past the House of Blues and onto the State Street Bridge that crossed the Chicago River.

  “What did I do wrong?” she asked, staring out across the water.

  “Well, it’s not the bean thing,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s the Cloud Gate, and we call it The Bean, just The Bean.”

  Devo
n rolled her eyes. She hadn’t thought she was that far off.

  “It’s in Millennium Park, not too far from here.”

  He strode purposefully across the bridge. Devon stopped for a second to take a picture. She knew she couldn’t post it anywhere online or send it to her mom like she normally would. No one really knew where she was, so it would totally blow her cover if she started posting pictures of Chicago. But she wanted memories of where she had been even if they were just for her.

  “While we’re playing tourist, I should let you know that directly ahead of us is the famous Chicago Theatre,” Garrett said, pointing out the giant red Chicago sign.

  Devon snapped a photo because…hey, why not?

  They continued through the busy streets, and despite having to avoid other tourists admiring the pretty buildings, walking seemed to help her stomach. She still wasn’t prepared for food, but the fresh air was breezy, and Devon found that moving was helpful.

  Garrett directed her down a side street and pointed out the glass exterior to the Joffrey Ballet. Looking several stories up, she watched the dancers jumping about as they passed by the building. They exited the cross street onto Michigan Avenue, and Millennium Park stood across from them. Garrett showed her the way to The Bean, and she saw clusters of people were already surrounding the massive mirror sculpture.

  From the perfect location, Devon could see the entire Chicago skyline in the reflection of the structure. She crossed her arms and stared up at it, wondering what she would see if she saw her own reflection. Would she see herself rounded and distorted like the city line was in some places or would she appear whole and perfect?

  A part of her hoped to see herself rounded and distorted like she felt, but as she approached, she saw her reflection was like any other mirror—a lie.

  “Want me to take your picture?” Garrett offered.

  Breaking her out of her silent reverie, she shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  She didn’t want any pictures of her by The Bean. It reflected the skyline, and that itself was the masterpiece. Her image would only obscure the view.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, extending his hand for her iPhone.

  Devon pulled it out of his reach. “No, really, I don’t want to be in any pictures.”

  “Come on, everyone wants their picture taken with The Bean. I even have Bean pictures. Don’t you want to show your friends or post it on Facebook?” Garrett asked with a smile though it was clear he wasn’t really joking.

  “I appreciate it, but no pictures for me. I’m not on Facebook anymore, so I don’t have anywhere to upload them,” she told him, tucking her phone into her pocket.

  “How do you survive? Hadley lives on there. Half the time, I can’t even reach her through her Facebook daze.”

  Devon shrugged. She’d had to shut it down, at least temporarily. If she were to check in, it could show her location, and she didn’t want to accidentally make a mistake. It wasn’t like she could rig Facebook into saying she was in both Paris and St. Louis at the same time. She was no genius with computers, and even if she were, she was pretty sure it was illegal.

  “I’m living in the present,” she told Garrett, which was true. She didn’t even want to think about the past.

  “It’s the best place to live.” Garrett just stared at her with the same curious expression on his face.

  The whole conversation had triggered something within her. She felt like if she didn’t get her feelings out right then and there, she would lose it. Digging into her purse, Devon pulled out her notebook. She grabbed her favorite pen, stalked over to a park bench, and immediately started writing down bits and pieces of whatever came to her mind.

  Garrett followed and sat down next to her, peering over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”

  Moving the notebook out of his view, she murmured, “Nothing.”

  “Looks like something. I don’t know many people who carry notebooks around with them.”

  “Me neither.” She continued to jot down ideas as they flowed through her.

  “Is it like a journal?” he asked, trying to read what she was writing.

  She scooted down the bench. “Just give me a second.”

  She wrote one last line and then shut the notebook. Garrett was staring at her intently, and she made a point of not looking at him.

  “So, not to pry or anything,” he said, obviously prying, “but who just whips out a book in public and starts writing?”

  He laughed at her, and she couldn’t hold it in as she laughed softly with him. He had a point.

  “I can’t help it sometimes. The words are just there.” She stuffed the notebook back into her bag and stood.

  “Are you going to tell me what you wrote?”

  “Nope,” Devon said, turning away from The Bean.

  “Is it like a journal or a diary? Is that why I can’t read it?”

  “No. I don’t talk about my writing. Sorry,” she said. “Is that a garden? Can we walk through?”

  “Sure,” Garrett said, “but don’t think you can change the subject so easily.”

  “It’s not a big deal. Just forget about it.” She walked briskly in the direction of the garden.

  She hated when people asked questions about her writing. It was deeply personal. She kind of hated herself for the compulsive habit, but she had been doing it since she was a kid. She was good at it, but she didn’t share well with others.

  “It’s kind of a big deal to you, isn’t it?” Garrett asked as they walked into the garden.

  “Not really,” she said, biting her lip.

  “Then, you can tell me about it,” he said smoothly.

  Devon stopped and shook her head. She knew he was just being nice, but he was meddling into things she didn’t want him near. She needed to change the course of the conversation. Any question he asked about her was going to be one question too many.

  Bending down, she took a series of photos of a purple flower in bloom. It was better than answering Garrett’s questions. He might be trying to get to know her, but she wasn’t ready to open up to anyone anytime soon.

  “Hey, sorry,” he muttered.

  She glanced up at him as his hand brushed through his dark brown hair. He actually looked sheepish.

  “I didn’t mean to get in your business. I didn’t know it would be so private.”

  Devon slowly stood. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Afraid your writing sucks? I know that’s why I don’t show anyone anything I’ve ever written,” he told her.

  “No, it’s not that,” she said. Writing came very natural to her. “I just don’t like to show people.”

  “I hope you’re not an English major or anything. It would be pretty bad if you never showed your professors your work,” Garrett said with a smile.

  “Oh god, no! I’m a social work major.” Devon walked next to him as they left the gardens and headed toward the lakefront.

  “Social work?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “What do you want to do work with inner-city kids in gangs or handle abuse cases? Either sounds awful.”

  Devon swallowed hard and bit down on her lip until it hurt. “No,” she answered sharply.

  Everyone always looked down on social work as if it wasn’t a legitimate degree, but Wash U had the number one program in the country. Social work majors dealt with all sorts of issues, and were very prominent in the lobbying world. A friend of hers was currently working on protection of women’s rights in D.C., and she didn’t have any complaints about her social work background.

  “Social work benefits a normal productive life span. Just because you were raised with a well-to-do family does not mean that the rest of society is so fortunate. People should receive the same care and help,” Devon answered vehemently. “Besides, social work can be used everywhere—government, counseling, nursing homes, community planning. I could go on and on.”

  “I do believe you could,” Garrett said with a smile. “Didn’
t mean to come off as condescending.”

  “We can’t all be business majors,” Devon said curtly.

  “Sounds like you really want to be, too.”

  “Is that sarcasm?” she asked.

  “I would never be sarcastic.”

  Devon rolled her eyes as the traffic light changed. They walked across the street and down a set of stairs to the lake. The water was choppy from the wind and the boats out in the harbor. Off in the distance, the Navy Pier looked crowded, and the Ferris wheel turned slowly, stopping every few feet to let passengers on and off. Runners crisscrossed the path, and a couple was rollerblading hand-in-hand. It was a rather picturesque day.

  “Stay here a minute,” Garrett said before rushing away.

  Devon sighed and pulled out her notebook again. Now that he was gone, she reread what she had written by The Bean. She studied the words and the tone that they had taken. Everything seemed to drift back to the moment that had pushed her over the edge.

  Thumbing back to the day after it had happened, she saw the faint bumps in the paper that signified where her teardrops had fallen onto the page. They marred half the page, and as she skimmed the words, she felt a lump form in her throat. The memories and emotions were as all too much. Why was she actively reliving it? She couldn’t seem to get away, and half the time, she didn’t think she wanted to.

  She took a few minutes to compose herself before Garrett returned.

  Carrying two Popsicles, he smiled brightly at her. “Hope you like strawberry because I’m taking the blueberry-lime,” he said, offering her the red Popsicle.

  “My favorite,” Devon told him with a big smile. He got us popsicles? Cute. “What’s this for?”

  “I thought it would be easy on your stomach,” he said, shrugging. “One of my favorite pastimes. I used to come here a lot when I was younger with my parents. We’d eat Popsicles and sit on the edge of the water. So…sit.”

  Devon smiled even bigger. She was glad that Garrett was talking about himself and not her for a change. She sat next to him on the ledge and dangled her feet toward the water, enjoying the beginning of summer.

  The beginning of a new life.