Read Night Resurrected for Free Online Page B

them out on a bush to dry, then
    ducked underwater to wash her hair.
    When she finished with her ablutions,
    Remy floated around on her back. As
    often happened, her fingers settled over
    the slight curve of her belly, covering the
    crystal as if to assure herself it was safe
    —the small gemstone her grandfather,
    the first Remington Truth, had given her
    on his deathbed, making her promise to
    guard with her life.
    It’s the key. You’ll know what to do
    with it when the time comes.
    The crystal itself was a rosy orange
    color and hardly bigger than her
    thumbnail. After he first gave it to her,
    she carried it in a zippered pants pocket.
    But then, after almost losing it when
    those pants were carried away down a
    river while she washed them, Remy
    realized she had to do something else
    with the crystal. If it was that important,
    she had to hide and protect it.
    For a while, then, she wore it around
    her neck on a chain, having fashioned a
    setting for it. But then there was a chance
    it would get caught, and the chain snap
    and break. Or someone might see it, and
    ask about it or yank it off her neck.
    And so, nearly fifteen years ago, she
    thought
    of
    a
    better
    way.
    She
    painstakingly wrought an intricate silver
    and gold setting for the crystal, which
    not only obscured most of the stone itself
    but also had four small wires. She had
    help from an old jeweler, who thought
    she simply meant to have an unusual
    belly ring, and pierced her navel in four
    places to hold the crystal firmly in place.
    It was thus hidden, protected, and
    always with her. She hadn’t had
    occasion to remove the complicated
    ornament for years—simply flushing
    water behind and around it and bathing
    the piercings with alcohol on occasion
    —until a few days ago, when it started
    to glow and burn and she was forced to
    ask Wyatt to help her remove it.
    His touch had been efficient and
    impersonal, but the memory of those
    long, confident fingers skating over her
    belly made Remy feel unsettled and
    warm even now. She chalked it up to the
    awkwardness of intimacy with a stranger
    and turned her thoughts firmly away,
    giving a powerful frog-kick in the lake.
    The water surged over her as she shot
    through the waves, still floating on her
    back, looking up at the blue sky from
    behind the filter of tree branches. Still
    remembering.
    Hide yourself, Remy. Don’t let them
    find you. Don’t . . . let . . . them . . . find
    you .
    She’d done what her grandfather bid,
    hiding from everyone, getting to know no
    one, disdaining long-term relationships
    and friendships. A lonely existence. And
    in the beginning it had been a frightening
    one. She had no idea when or if someone
    would be searching for her, hunting her
    down . . . and what they would do to her
    if they found her.
    But
    after
    years
    of
    nomadlike
    behavior, Remy found herself relaxing a
    little. She stayed in one place for months
    at a time, then moved and resettled. The
    closest she’d come to having a
    permanent home was her three years in
    Redlo, where she’d had a small business
    making pottery. She’d begun to feel safe.
    She had Dantès. She had friends. She
    had a pleasant life. For a time she’d
    even had a boyfriend.
    But that idyll had been interrupted by
    the arrival of Wyatt and his friends.
    They’d been searching for Remington
    Truth, and for some reason she’d never
    know, the words had popped from her
    mouth: I’m Remington Truth .
    How many times since then had she
    berated herself for being so stupid? How
    could that have just spilled from her lips
    so readily, after so many years of
    secrecy?
    Maybe it was because no one had
    actually said the name Remington Truth
    for so long? Caught off-guard, had her
    response been automatic?
    Or maybe her grandfather was right
    . . . She’d know what to do when the
    time came. Maybe the time had come.
    Maybe somehow she sensed it. Had she
    somehow known she could trust Wyatt
    and his group of friends? That they