Chapter Thirty

SCHOFIELD MALL HAD YOUR basic stores, nothing fancy, and that was a good thing because my wallet didn’t speak fancy. It being a Friday night, the mall was pretty packed. I could only assume that most of the young patrons were all getting last-minute items for tomorrow night’s dance as well.

Dean and I had both told the girls we would meet them in the food court. Dean agreed to keep my secret between the now three of us and suggested we play it normal around Celia. Like I even knew the meaning of normal.

I have never been a mallrat or liked the idea of shopping. It just wasn’t my thing. I’d never had a lot of stuff to begin with, and generally, anything I ever actually wanted cost more than what Uncanny, Inc. could pay out.

Dean and I passed a cell-phone kiosk and a sign displaying new, lower rates. A cell phone was something I’d say I wanted most of all. I could probably manage the monthly payments, but how would I explain that to the Mitchells? I couldn’t keep up that kind of lie, not to them. Even if getting a phone made good business sense so clients could get in touch with me.

Then it dawned on me again. The words of Dr. Vance and the “dark place.” Was he right? Heck, was my theory right? Was I leading people to their dark place?

As my mind battled each side of the argument, I was shoved hard from behind. The new momentum turned my next few steps into stumbles.

I caught myself and whipped my head around to face my attacker. From the events of the last couple of days, I had grown edgy and didn’t know what to expect anymore, but this I should have known. Trent stood, arms spread, taunting me, goons at both sides, and his broken smile on his face.

“What up, fellas?” he asked as Dean turned around as well. I could tell he was set to start throwing fists if need be, although we were at the mall—a public place—and I doubted Trent would try anything. Then again, I still hadn’t quite figured Trent out yet.

“Come on, Nolan.” Dean knew better and pulled on my arm.

“Still hanging around with this guy, huh?” Trent thumbed toward Dean. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

I raised my hands in peace, taking after Dean and not wanting to start anything, but Trent’s riddle still echoed in my head. Was he just messing with me?

“Nolan, come on,” Dean’s said, his voice demanding.

Trent flashed another crooked smile and squinted at me as if he knew something I didn’t. Dean was pulling me back now, so I was unable get a good lock on Trent’s crazy eyes.

Fighting free of Dean’s restraint, I stepped a foot closer to Trent. Just needed to be a little closer and I’d be able to make eye contact—or throw a connecting punch, if need be.

“Do it,” Trent whispered to me. His prompt jerked my thoughts to a halt. What did he want? I noticed dark rings around Trent’s slits-for-eyes. Something was off about him.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Dean stepped in front of me and got in my face, blocking me.

“All I need is a fraction of a second, Dean,” I said out of the side of my mouth.

“Nope. It’s not going to happen,” he said, unmoved.

I had to know what was going on. Why was Dean resisting so much? Why did he even care? I wanted to know what Trent was getting at.

“Gentlemen,” a hearty voice called out to the group of us.

Mall security. Crap.

The guard had one hand resting on a Taser and the other fingers tapping a nightstick. Behind him stood another guard, taller, but with the same intent if things went south.

Trent and his posse turned first and headed the opposite way. Dean didn’t even give the Rent-a-Cops a sideways glance. He was still dead set on me.

“Move,” he said. And I did, but didn’t like it.

Dean and I walked again in silence until we got to the escalator that took us to the second level.

“You shouldn’t let him get to you,” he offered, now sounding more cool and collected than before.

I pretended I didn’t hear him and spoke my thoughts. “What’s the deal with you and Trent?” It was Dean’s turn to clam up. I didn’t let the question drop and asked again.

“Trent and I. We’ve got history,” Dean finally said.

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Who doesn’t? The guy’s a jerk to everybody in school.”

Dean shook his head. “No, not like that.”

“Then what?” I asked.

Dean looked at me and then away. “Remember that foster kid I told you about who had been staying with us and burned down our house?”

To say the least, I was shocked as it all sank in. The escalator deposited us on the second floor.

I stayed with the conversation, but felt guilty doing so. “Trent was the one who burned down your house?” I stabbed a thumb over my shoulder to indicate the dispute we had just come from.

Dean was silent. I took it for a difficult yes.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry. He’s just …” I stammered a bit, still trying to collect my thoughts. “Bro, I didn’t know.”

Dean shook his head. “Nobody does,” he said and made a face that seemed as though he had been wounded.

“I get it now. I’ll steer clear of him.” I understood how much a certain individual could hurt someone else. My dad had been my Trent. Playing terrorist in my life. Plaguing my existence. I just had no clue Trent had been that for Dean. Dean was always so easygoing that you’d never have known anything was bothering him. Yet, even Dean had secrets.

His face brightened back to life as his eyes caught something.

“This secret stays between just you and me, got it?” he said. I looked ahead and saw Celia waving at us from a table in the food court.

I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m the only mind reader in town.”