He’s a sick young man.
I’m sorry, but I have to save you.
I don’t understand any of it, but right now, I’m too out of breath and too excited to keep crying. I keep looking around, but the street is deserted except for the homeless with their shopping carts.
They haven’t noticed I’m gone yet.
Should I go back to The Forum? Where could River find me?
My phone vibrates. Maybe it’s him. Breathless, I pull it out and slow down to read the message:
Girl number one: Reese Mahony from New Orleans, a friend of Zozoo. Her suicide attempt: over a hundred Diazepam and a bottle of liquor. Tanner was eighteen at the time.
Girl number two: Suzanne Meyers. Tanner met her in the psychiatric hospital after he jumped into the river. Her suicide attempt: she wanted to jump from the roof of the clinic. He was nineteen.
Girl number three: Betty Dawson. He found her in a dilapidated house. She wanted to slit her wrists.
Girl number three didn’t survive his rescue mission, Kansas!
Where are you? You must be crazy. Tanner is crazy. Who gives a shit if he’s Asher Blackwell, Jesus Christ, or Satan. He’s a freak! He’s not a hero!
I get more messages from James and Dad, but I don’t read them. Dizzy from all the new information, I place the phone back in my pocket.Girl number three didn’t survive his rescue mission!
Then again, what does Chester know about his brother? Nothing! He hasn’t seen him in years, and he didn’t even know he was Asher Blackwell. This is all completely crazy.
I look around when I reach the Strip, but I don’t see anyone following me. With my arms wrapped around myself, I continue through the crowds, the dazzling twinkling lights, and past limousines with thumping bass. The thoughts in my head merge with one another like a kaleidoscope. River could be anywhere.
Girl number three did not survive his rescue mission!
Chapter 27
Ihave no idea how long I’ve been walking. My feet hurt with every step, and my throat feels as dry as dust. Tired, I retreat to Caesars, wander around, and come to a monumental, multi-story hall where the floors form a ring around an inner courtyard. Maybe I’ll spot River from the very top. I go up the curved escalators and past Roman statues as tall as houses that seem to carry the upper floors on their heads. On the top floor, I walk past more shops in a dreamlike state. In a dark, sheltered spot, I lean against the balustrade and stare down four stories.
I don’t see him anywhere.
Maybe I wouldn’t even recognize him. Or maybe he’s already gone. Maybe my last point—theI love you—wasn’t reason enough to stay.
I think about everything the others said about him.
Would he go to Lost Arrow Spire alone?
“Hey, baby.” In the darkness, an arm wraps around my neck, and I shudder deep inside myself. For a moment, I fear that River will throw us both over the railing, that he will simply end everything that was, and that we’ll fly and fall, together foreternity. And even as I think that, I cling tightly to his upper arms, so tightly as if I never want to let go of him again.
“I told you I would find you,” he whispers roughly and this time the shiver down my spine is a mixture of confusion, fear, and desire. In the next second, he kisses me so longingly, so passionately, that I forget everything else. I forget my family, my mom, the Davenports, and Caesars. During these moments, I float with the stars, embraced by the light of a thousand moons, surrounded by all the beautiful words he invented for me. I feel his cool tongue, his cool lips, and the heat of his hands as he holds me tight.
Moon twilight blue. Angelic night song. Dream magic cocoon.
I love you. I love you. I love you. Even if I could, I wouldn’t say it because then it would be over.
When we pull apart, he looks me directly in the eyes. They’re dark blue, something that is true about him. Real. It seems to me as if those eyes have always been honest with me, maybe not in what he has kept secret, but in everything he has felt.
“You were at the hotel, and they were there,” he says, brushing the damp hair from my face. I shake pathetically but don’t know why. I try to say something, choke out something, but he puts his finger to my lips. “You don’t have to say anything. You’re carrying my things. If no one had been there—your family or mine—you wouldn’t be wandering around Las Vegas. You would’ve been there, waiting for me.” As so often, he’s right. I pull out my phone. I received a ton of messages.They say you’re sick. They say you’re bipolar. They say you always save girls when you’re in one of your phases!He reads the words, and I see somberness cloud his features like a fog that won’t go away. “It’s not like they make it out to be, baby,” he says darkly and leans down to me. I feel his warm breath against my face. He smells of the sweetness andheaviness of Jack Daniel’s, and before I can react, he kisses me again. He kisses me so consumingly, like his life depends on it, and I grow dizzy from the desire behind it. He pushes me hard against the balustrade, and a tiny, frightened voice whispers in my head: What if he’s too sick to realize it? What if he doesn’t want to know the truth?
“Wait here,” he murmurs when he releases my lips. “Don’t run away, even if they call or whatever message they send you. Give me a chance to explain everything.” He nods his chin at the people milling around the hotel. “But not here. We’ll get a room.”
How is he going to get a room if everyone knows he’s here? His picture is probably all over the media, although I still haven’t checked on that. He kisses me on the forehead and goes to a trash can, where he pulls out a plastic bag and conjures up the wig and sunglasses. He holds a card in front of my face. An ID card. Tanner Davenport with a picture of him with dark hair.
So, he’s not blond at all. His hair is dyed. I have no idea why that shocks me so much.
