Read Online The Last Story by Christopher Pike - Free Book Online Page B

tomorrow."

    "We'll be all wet tomorrow." He looked me up and down. "Lightning only strikes once."

    "Is that what you are? Lightning?"

    He leaned out of his car, brushing my bare arm.

    "No. I'm destiny. And it only knocks once. Come with me. We'll have fun. You can call your friend and tell him you were held up."

    "Oh, I wasn't having lunch with anyone," I lied, and hated myself for it. "I was just busy with Henry." I stopped and giggled nervously. "Hell, why not? Where do you want to go?"

    He spoke in a sinister voice. "Somewhere dark and quiet."

    I continued to giggle. "I'm not drinking any wine. I'm not falling for that trick again."

    He clasped my hand. "Did you fall, Shari? Is that what happened?"

    I didn't know what to say. I said nothing.

    Roger had expensive tastes. We went to the restaurant inside the Beverly Hills Hotel, and after

    we were seated, I found out that was where he was staying.

    "But this place must cost five hundred a night," I said.

    "My suite is actually closer to a thousand a night.

    Why are you so shocked? You make twenty times that a day."

    "But—" I began.

    "But I'm not a famous writer like you?" Roger asked.

    "I wasn't going to say that."

    "But you were thinking it." He shrugged. "I come from an affluent background."

    I remembered my comment to Henry about Roger's background. "What does your father do?" I asked.

    "He's dead."

    "What did he do?"

    "I never knew my father or mother."

    "Are you adopted?"

    "In a manner of speaking. Tell me about your father."

    I thought of Jean's father. "He died when I was young."

    "Where did you grow up?"

    "In east L.A."

    "But Jo's from Huntington Beach. And you said the two of you went to high school together."

    I hesitated. "We did. Didn't Jo tell you we did?"

    "Yes. But I don't see how it's possible." He raised a hand as I began to protest. "It doesn't matter. I

    have my secrets. You have your secrets. There's nothing wrong with that."

    I held his eye a heartbeat too long to deny that what he had just said wasn't true. "I don't have many secrets," I said softly. There was something about his eyes that was so familiar. My response amused him.

    "You have a few more every day, Shari."

    He was referring to my being with him last night, this afternoon. His comment should have been enough to make me get up and leave. Yet I stayed.

    Curiosity and pride kept me in my seat.

    "We're both adults," I said. "Tell me about your adopted parents?"

    "They were good people." He changed the subject.

    "Where did you learn to write?"

    "I'm self-taught."

    "But you must have some inspiration?"

    I had to smile. "Are you asking me where I get my ideas?"

    "Why is that funny?"

    "Everyone asks me that." I paused. "There's a troll in my bedroom closet. He inspires me."

    "Have you ever met him?"

    "He comes out occasionally."

    Roger leaned over and took my hand, studying my palm, holding it close to the candle.
    Close enough that I felt its heat. His face was serious.

    "You know, they say you can read a person's whole life in the lines of their palm." He stroked my open hand gently with his fingertips—the sen sation was delicious. He traced a line that led from beneath my small finger in a straight line below my other fingers. "This is your heart line. It predicts your love life."

    "How is it?" I asked.

    "It forks at the end. A fork in one of the major lines shows great power in that area of life.
    You have a big heart, Jean. You're compassionate and kind. But your heart line is also splintered." He pointed to a spot one-third of the way down the line. "Here, where the break is, you're about twenty-one years old."

    "What does a splinter mean?"

    "That your heart will be divided at that time."

    "But I'm twenty-one now."

    Roger nodded. "So you're in for interesting times. Let's see your intellect line. It comes from the other direction, and curves downward. You see it?"

    "Yes. It's also forked."

    "Yes. You're obviously intelligent. It has no