Overtones of Midnight: Guardian, #3

By Maree Brittenford

Amy is being pulled in so many directions she may as well be torn in pieces. Her friends are scattered and in danger, her dreams are never ending, and she's trapped in the last place she ever wanted to go.
In the end it falls to her to save all of her friends. If she can't master her abilities and do impossible things then everyone and everything will be lost.
Can Amy save everyone?
Can she save herself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maree Brittenford
• Release date: Apr 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201968465

Book preview

ONE

I see Sam die a different way each night.

Sometimes several different ways, as I jolt awake from one horror and fall, exhausted, back into a new one.

When I scream it wakes the girls in the neighboring dorm rooms, but they've given up coming to check on me. I've already got a reputation as that one girl with the nightmares.

Mostly, I don't scream anyway. I wake sobbing and reaching for something I can never quite grasp or block or protect.

I'm sent to see the doctor. She offers me medications to make the dreams stop, to let me rest. I don't take them. It seems wrong. Like I'm failing Sam. I've failed him in so many ways, but this—the seeing of his death—this is something I've always been able to use to protect him. Or maybe that's an excuse. Because this is bad enough. What if the sleeping pills don't make the dreams go away? What if they lock me into them instead? Waking up is the only relief I have. I can't risk giving it up.

Sam is fine. I see him every day, across the crowded cafeteria. Every time he tries to catch my eye I ignore him. I know he's expecting me to do something, to know something. To have some warning for him.

But this time it's different. It's all different.

I see Sam die, but I don't know how to save him.

#

The funny thing is that being here isn't so bad. We're confined to the school grounds, and there's a ten-foot-high wall around the place. That wouldn't be a problem for me, except it's topped with razor wire and signage proclaiming high voltage. Not to mention the armed guards on the gate and patrolling the perimeter (or so I've been told). But none of the students seem worried about it. The other kids are as careless and relaxed as any group of high-schoolers. Perhaps more relaxed than what I'm used to. They chatter cheerfully and move around campus in lively social groups, apparently without care or fear.

If it wasn't for the guards, you'd think this was just a fancy private school.

The wall surrounds at least twenty-five acres. The school buildings are friendly looking. One or two stories of wood shingle siding with steep, sloping metal roofs and deep porches. The only buildings taller than two stories are the dorms. They’re more square and substantial, but with a nod to the same design theme. Covered walkways with the same sloping roofs link all the buildings together like branches from a stem. It's all quite scenic. Like some sort of modern recreation of a Gold Rush village, with the grassy green of athletic fields spreading out around instead of ugly tent cities. There’s even little patches of forest left standing. It's charming. Quaint. Bound to impress nervous parents.

Obviously we're in the mountains. Peaks are visible beyond the walls, and the air has that bite and woodsy scent that I identify with the high mountain forests. Probably a part of the Sierra Nevadas, the same range that rises up along the horizon of my hometown. It makes sense. The school we were supposed to go to was in northern California. But which California? What world are we in? Our own? Another?

And why are we even here? To go to the trouble of arranging for me and Sam to be abducted, they must know who we are and what I can do. Yet no one has asked me to do anything. They haven't even tried to take the stone in my anklet. Perhaps they know it's not doing me any good, feeding me such a confusing mishmash of images. I can't make a jump with it. I've tried that often enough. All it's good for is giving me too many death dreams.

Despite the loveliness of the setting, my pounding fatigue has shrunk my world down to two places. My dorm room and the cafeteria.

I prefer the cafeteria. It may be loud, with the voices of five hundred or so people all trying to talk over each other, and it may smell of fried chicken and teen drama, but at least when I’m here I can pretend to forget about what happens when I'm asleep.

I sit, slouched over my tray of food, pretending not to see Sam sitting three tables away with a teacher and three eager-looking students. He's watching me. I can feel it. Part of me wants to throw myself into his arms and cry for years. But I can't do that. I can't save him, so why bother burdening him with that? Besides, every time I try to get close enough to talk to him he disappears. Why are they keeping us separated? They have him, and they have me. They've got what they wanted, although why Sam— my Sam out of all the versions that are out there in all the worlds— why is he such a coveted prize? And what do they think will happen if they let me near him?

I can't think properly. My brain is fuzzy and my heart pounds when I try to think. The lack of sleep may very well be killing me.

A metal tray clatters down next to me, but I don't bother to look up.

It's either one of the perky student leaders who'll try to encourage me to find my passion (yes, that actually happens), or it's Aleesha.

The silence tells me it's her.

We don't have much to say to each other. She's angry that I let Pedro get left behind. I can't find a reason to disagree. I've failed more than one version of Sam. Pedro is just the latest.

Aleesha is stuck here witnessing it. It's no wonder she hates me. My grand adventure to save all the Sams in all the dimensions came to a swift and ignominious end. Yet she's still bothering me. I don't know why.

Amy? she finally says. My name as a question. A question I don't have an answer to.

Why are you here? I ask, feeling peevish. You want to yell at me some more? I already told you you're right.

I'm waiting for you to stop wallowing in self-pity and get me out of here.

I can't help you. You know that.

What I know is that you won't.

Something about the implacable way she says it stirs up a little anger, pushing back all the tiredness inside me.

What am I supposed to do? Transport us out of here? Don't you get it? I've tried and tried. I can't do it without my necklace.

That is what burns the most. I can't make a way between dimensions anymore. Not without the precious blue stone from my necklace. The one that was ripped from my neck those weeks ago by the alternate version of Eddie.

The one I have now, the backup, the one Sam made for me himself— it's useless for anything except the parade of death that marches through my brain every night. It presses on my ankle as an insulting reminder, demanding that I be better, and I can't. I can't do anything except dream.

Aleesha eyes me calmly. Those stones of yours aren't the only way out of here. You act like they're everything, as if you can't think or act without them. So you've given up. You've quit before you've even tried.

You're the one that's escaped a place like this before. If you know how to get out, please, lead the way.

She shakes her head a little, like I'm unimaginably foolish. When was the last time you ate a full meal? Or slept through the night?

I can't meet her knowing gaze.

The dreams, they keep waking me. And food— I shove the tray away. The thought of food makes my head pound and my stomach roil. I managed an apple. That's nutritious, right?

Then you know how to fix your problem. She picks up her tray, which she's managed to eat her way through, and stands. I need your help, Amy, and if you don't care about me, think about him. She nods to where Sam sits, surrounded by strangers. He needs you to get yourself together. Because I know this: we aren't getting out of here without each other.

She walks away, leaving me feeling trapped and angry.

Why is she putting this all on me? I'm nobody. Just the girl who got handed a magic necklace and more responsibilities than she could handle. Without the power that necklace gave me I'm less than useless. Clearly.

I've been kidnapped, shot, attacked in various ways, abandoned, handcuffed, imprisoned, and now ignored. All for what? To keep that special boy across the room safe. How dare she suggest that I'm not thinking of him? He's all I think of. Even when I don't want to. Even in my dreams.

#

The rush of anger energizes me for the few minutes it takes to get back to my room. But faced with the small beige room, crowded with the the utilitarian oak desk, twin bed, and tallboy dresser, the energy seeps away, and the exhaustion rolls back in doubled. I'm so tired. I just want to sleep. For one night I want to sleep.

I eye the bottle of pills sitting on the desk. Untouched since last week, when they were prescribed to me.

I open it and spill the pills out into my hand. There's only four of them. I was supposed to take one a night, but after the doctor examined me she decided that I'd only be allowed a few pills at a time.

I think she was worried I'd try to kill myself.

Funny that they're so concerned about my well-being while keeping me locked up here. If they really cared, they wouldn't be keeping me separated from Sam, and they sure wouldn't be making me stay here while I worry about the safety of everyone I love.

I haven't taken a single pill. I'm halfway sure they wouldn't work on me. Or they'd work too well and lock me in with whatever vision of Sam's horrible death that decides to visit me.

I put my hand on the innocuous bump under my sock.

Why are you doing this? I ask it. Why are you showing me these things?

The crystal doesn't answer, remaining as confusing as ever.

But Aleesha's words nag at me.

I do know what to do. I know how to stop the nightmares. All I have to do is take the anklet off.

The idea of that makes me want to cry. The last time I was without a crystal people died.

But, finally, I take it off. It's only once it's off and I'm holding it in my hand that I realize I have a problem.

I can't let it out of my sight. It's currently messing with my head, but it's still the most valuable item I own, and if I leave it in my room anything could happen.

I need to keep it close, but I can't let it be in contact with my skin.

My foggy brain finally comes up with an idea, and I rummage around my desk drawer and find the plastic container of mints that I remember being given with my basic toiletries kit. I dump the mints into my waste basket and wrap the anklet up in a tissue, tucking it inside the round container.

I fall asleep with it under my pillow, my hand around the plastic tin.

TWO

I jolt awake gasping.

Something bad has happened. I know it.

Something is wrong with Sam.

There's no fading images of his death in my mind. There's no dreams at all.

I go to the window and look across to the boys’ dorms. I figured out which window belonged to Sam when I first arrived. His window is dark, just like almost all the others. The red numbers on the digital clock on the desk read 2:49. I haven't slept eight hours straight since I got here. My mind is amazingly clear. And I can't fight off this terrible feeling.

I look out over the shadowy campus. Nothing is stirring anywhere.

The guards, are, as I've been told, protecting us from external threats, not keeping us confined.

I don't believe that for a second, but most people here seem to. I don't know what is going on outside these walls that makes these kids believe that so willingly— another thing I haven't paid attention to. But either way, at night the guards are supposed to be patrolling outside the fence, keeping the walls and gates secure, not worrying about what's going on in here.

The desperate certainty that Sam is in danger is fading, but I still need to see him, touch him, and reassure myself he's safe. I can do that. I can sneak across there. It looks amazingly simple, really. Why haven't I done it before?

What's the worst that can happen if I'm caught climbing in his window at three a.m.? Expulsion? I wish. Maybe I can get Sam expelled too.

My decision is already made, and I dress in the dark blue school sweats that I've been provided with. Since we arrived here with nothing more than the clothes we were wearing, everything has been provided for me, from clothes and toiletries to the laptop that sits unopened on the desk. The teachers and support staff have been very helpful that way, although of course everything I own is now plastered with the school logo or encouraging slogans about being and doing my best.

I put the tin in the pouch pocket in the front of my sweatshirt and then rethink it, shoving it into my bra. No reason to chance it falling out of a pocket with no zipper.

It's quick work to slip out my window. I'm on the ground floor, so there's no drop.

The air outside is sharp and cold. I eye the shadowy silhouettes of the mountains tops beyond the walls. The only sounds I can hear are the calls of night birds and crickets. Whatever dimension I'm in, it's getting colder. Winter is coming. If we're going to escape overland, we better act fast; otherwise, we'll end up lost in a snowstorm.

In a few minutes I'm scraping my fingers on the rough curves of the log cabin-style exterior of the boys’ dorms. It's nice that it's not the shingles that the other buildings have since it makes it easy to climb. I scale the facade to the third floor. The bark abrading my hands feels good, as invigorating as the icy mountain air. I’ve missed using my body like this.

Sam's window is locked.

He promised me that he'd always leave it unlocked for me. Or, rather, he promised he'd leave the window at home, in his house with his dad, unlocked for me. I still feel rejected.

I dangle there for a moment, my muscles starting to shake after weeks of poor sleep and little food and exercise, before I realize that he's not shutting me out. He's on the third floor. The window doesn't have a screen. It may very well just be that the windows on this level don't open.

I climb past and up one more story onto the roof, pulling myself up onto it and lying there to rest for a minute.

I've lost condition. I need to do something about that.

And I'm starting to wonder if I'm being ridiculous. I've just been too easily dissuaded from being around Sam. If I push it I'm sure I can talk to him. Touch him.

Except I can't just wait and see him once the sun comes up.

I need to see him now.

I am going to get in there.

I lean back over the edge and study the window below me. It looks like it should open—it has a sliding sash—but who knows why I couldn't lift it.

It doesn't matter.

I can either bang on the window and risk waking the neighbors, find another way in, or quit.

Lucky for me the dorm roof isn't the basic A-shape of the other buildings. It's got a more elaborate, multi-tiered style. And there, tucked under one of the overhangs, is an access door. It isn't locked.

For having guards walking patrols and electrified fences this school is weirdly not secure. Maybe they really are only protecting us from external threats.

Once I'm inside, it's short work to climb down the ladder, which leads into a utility closet that isn't locked either (from the inside, at least). I check, and it does lock from the outside. So I tear a piece of cardboard off a box and jam it in the latch hole so I can get back in from the hallway.

The empty, silent hallway is harsh and bright even with only half its fluorescent tubes lit. It dazzles my eyes after the darkness outside. I shouldn't linger. Just my luck, I'd run into a guy on his way to the bathroom and blow all this effort.

Sam's door isn't locked either.

Nothing is locked except that window.

Of course. It feels like a sign. Everyone welcome except Amy.

I shiver with anxiety. Is he being kept from me? Or does he want nothing to do with me? It's too easy to remember all those months where he shut me out. Until we talked late at night. Just like now. I hesitate. Something terrible happened that night. Something that I should've prevented. I should've been smarter, faster, thought harder. My friends are dead because I didn't.

What's going to happen if I go in there and talk to Sam now?

Will more people die because of my failures?

I almost back away, but I hear a door opening at the other end of the hall.

I open Sam's door and slip inside.

#

It's pitch-black in here, or at least it seems to be after the bright hallway. Blinds cover the window, leaking narrow stripes of light that don't illuminate anything.

I stand frozen.

What if I got it wrong? What if this isn't Sam's room?

I dismiss that quickly.

The room smells like Sam. Not even in a dirty-laundry, stinky-boy kind of way. More in the hot metal, machine oil, and some boy-scented toiletries kind of way. How he has his preferred products, I don't know. But I recognise the scent. I've just been using the products and wearing the clothes I've been given. Maybe Sam asked for what he likes.

My eyes slowly adjust, and I slip across the room to inch open the blinds.

I can make out a bed pushed against the wall, with a shape in it.

Sam.

He's right there.

He's right there, and I want to touch him. I want to climb into bed beside him and let him hold me while I cry. I want to let myself feel safe for a moment. Even if it’s not real.

I give his shoulder a light shove.

He moves a little and mumbles something.

I lean over him and shake him harder.

He comes up swinging, hitting me in the gut and sending me stumbling across the room.

It's a narrow room, so I slam into the wall and then curl around my injured stomach.

The light clicks on, and he's on his feet standing over me. It takes a few seconds, but then he's on his knees, reaching for me.

I don't know what's worse. The hit I deserved or the embrace that I most certainly don't.

Good to know you're not used to girls sneaking into your room, I say. If I'm not snarking I'll cry.

Amy! Oh no! I'm so sorry... I didn't— I've been so jumpy, I'm sorry, please... come here. He puts his arm around me and tries to pull me to my feet, but I lean away from him. I want to cry so much.

I still let him lead me back to his bed.

Your hands are freezing.

It's cold outside— what did you expect?

He pulls his blankets around me and snuggles in beside me, and, oh, I want so bad just to be taken care of, but Aleesha's words ring in my brain. I've been wasting time. Time I should've been using to save her and Sam, not wallowing in my own feelings.

Amy. His breath is hot on my ear. I'm so glad you're here. I didn't know what to do. I haven't been staying away from you because I wanted to.

And that... that rings a little false.

You can climb out your window just as easily as I can climb out mine.

They said stuff, about you and Aleesha as a threat to keep me in line.

What did they say?

Not anything since I got here, but Jill... His voice fades off.

I thought Jill cared about us, about me. In the end she betrayed us for her own safety. I can't think about Jill.

So you don't know? You just decided?

Amy. His voice is a plea. I've been trying... waiting for the right time...I've been asking you what you think we should do.

What?

Didn't you get my messages?

Messages?

Well, PM's. I've been trying to plan to meet with you. Didn’t you understand? I wasn’t very clear I guess. It doesn't matter now though. You're here.

I'm here. With Sam.

I've missed you so much, he adds.

Me too.

And I let myself just enjoy being close to him for a minute.

So, what’s the plan? Any ideas? Do you still have your anklet? Can you get us out with it?

My heart sinks a little. So much for the reunion. Now I get to explain to him all my failures. I take out the mint container and hand it to him.

I have it, for all the good it's doing. I can't control it at all. I can't use it to make a jump, and it seems intent on showing me ten thousand ways you can die, or maybe the ways every other version of you will die, or have died, or... I don't know any more.

I lean my head against his shoulder. He's warm, and very much not dead.

Ten thousand ways to die? His voice shakes a little.

It feels like it. I haven't slept more than an hour or two at once until tonight, when I just took it off.

He runs his hand over my cheek. "You don't look like you've been getting enough to eat either. Please take care of yourself. If that means not wearing this,