A Need So Beautiful (A Need So Beautiful #1)(58)

I walk down the carpeted hall. Landscape paintings in gilded frames hang on the walls; heavy wood doors block out all sounds of life from within the apartments. With each step I feel myself slipping further and further away.

When I’m in front of Warren Bradley’s apartment, I stop. He’s waiting for me.

I knock tentatively. There’s a rustling from inside, but no answer. I knock again, taking short breaths because it’s all I can get in my lungs.

Still no answer. Now I’m beginning to panic because I want in. I want to be done. I’m so tired.

Reaching forward, I turn the door handle and it opens with a click. Under normal circumstances, breaking and entering would seem a bit much, but right now, the Need is so overwhelming, I push open the door.

The room is dark and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. There are windows in the living room that I can see from here, but they have shades pulled down, blocking out the light. It smells like antiseptic.

There’s a cough from the living room. “You’re early. My meds aren’t due for another hour,” a man says in a raspy voice.

There’s a jolt and I’m pushed down the hallway toward him. I’m suddenly scared, scared of who Warren is, scared of what I’ll be after this. My mouth is opening, trying to let words escape but they’re caught in my throat.

Warren Bradley is lying in the dark in a hospital bed. There is no light in here. I hear him suck in a breath and it’s loud, labored. Monroe has told me many times about that sound. The death rattle.

I swallow hard and walk toward him. Even though Warren is not glowing, he has a dull glaze of yellow aura when I get close enough. Next to his bed is a lamp, and I turn it on.

He’s staring at me. His lips are dry and cracked, yet he smiles. “You could have skipped me today,” he says. Warren wears his graying hair in a buzz cut, and he’s tucked up to his neck under a white sheet. I think that once he must have been really handsome. But now . . . now he’s skinny and frail.

“I don’t have any medicine,” I say. My heart is beating hard against my chest and I see his glow flicker, but it’s not coming to me. The Need isn’t coming out.

Warren furrows his brow. “You’re not with hospice, are you?” A look crosses his face, a mixture of fear and relief. “Do you think you could open the blinds?” he asks quietly. “I’d love to see the sunlight again.”

His request surprises me and I walk over to raise the shades. The room fills with light and I see how nice it is. Lots of antiques, a brightly woven rug in the middle, and shelves and shelves of books. When I look back at Warren, he’s watching me.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says.

His words freeze me. “What?”

Warren starts to shift in the bed, pulling himself slowly into a sitting position. When he’s settled, he waves me over. “Do you think you can sit with me for a while?”

I nod and drag a chair to his bedside. We watch each other until my Need seems to perk up again, pulsing though me stronger every second.

“You’re sick,” I say, in my own weak voice.

He smiles sadly. “I am.”

“What is it?”

“This time? Pneumonia.”

I close my eyes and try to see him, see his story, but nothing comes. I begin to wonder if I’m in the wrong place when he holds out his hand to me.

Does he know me? I feel like I’m missing something, but without hesitation, I reach for him. The minute we touch, the world goes black.

I am a boy, my parents are driving the station wagon and we’re going to Disney World. I’m so happy. My brother is next to me, talking about his girlfriend, but I just gaze out the window. The scene changes and I’m in high school. I have a lot of friends, but no dates. People don’t understand.

Sadness overwhelms me. I’m sitting at my father’s bedside and he is an old man now. I’m crying but he keeps his face turned away from me. He won’t speak to me. Even now, he won’t speak to me.

And then I find Roderick. He’s the most loving man I’ve ever met, and he takes care of me. We take care of each other. We’re thinking of adopting, but then I’m at the hospital . . . with Roderick. He’s been diagnosed, but no one can know yet. Only me. We’ll deal with it together.

“What’s your name?”

Warren speaks and it breaks my vision. I sway in the chair and stare at his dull glow, the only thing I can see. I wait for the words to come, and after a second I can speak. “Charlotte.”

He smiles. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.

Tingles race over my skin. “You have?”

He nods. “Saw you once, when Roderick died. You were in the hospital with him. Of course, not as you are now, but I recognize you still.”

My lips part and I want to pull my hand out of his, oddly afraid of his words. But as I meet his eyes, his glow goes out and my vision returns. I see his chest rising and falling slower. He’s almost gone and I still don’t know why I’m here.

“Your mother?” I ask. “Do you want me to call her?”

He closes his eyes and then shakes his head. “No, she passed away a few months ago. She talked to me though. Apologized.”

I exhale, feeling relieved. I thought that maybe I was here to help him reconcile with his family, to heal some of that hurt. But it seems that already happened.