Free I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore, James Frey, Jobie Hughes Page A

But now I have seen the blood, the tears, the dead. I have seen the destruction. It’s a part of who I am.
    Outside, darkness has set in. Three more scratches at the door, a low groan. We both jump. I immediately think of the low groans I heard coming from the beasts.
    Henri rushes into the kitchen and grabs a knife from the drawer beside the sink. “Get behind the couch.”
    “What, why?”
    “Because I said so.”
    “You think that little knife is going to take down a Mogadorian?”
    “If I hit them straight in the heart it will. Now get down.”
    I scramble off the coffee table and crouch behind the sofa. The two cauldrons of fire are still going, faint visions of Lorien still moving through my mind. An impatient growl comes from the other side of the front door. There is no mistaking that somebody, or something, is out there. My heart races.
    “Keep down,” Henri says.
    I lift my head so that I can peer over the back of the couch. All that blood, I think. Surely they knew they were outmatched. But they fought to the end anyway, dying to save each other, dying to save Lorien. Henri grips the knife tightly. He slowly reaches for the brass knob. Anger sweeps through me. I hope it is one ofthem. Let a Mogadorian come through that door. He’ll meet his match.
    There’s no way I’m staying behind this couch. I reach over and grab one of the cauldrons, thrust my hand into it and pull out a burning piece of wood with a pointed end. It’s cool to the touch, but the fire burns on, sweeping over and around my hand. I hold the piece of wood like a dagger. Let them come, I think. There will be no more running. Henri looks over at me, takes a deep breath and rips the front door open.

CHAPTER NINE
    EVERY MUSCLE IN MY BODY IS FLEXED, EVERYTHING tense. Henri jumps through the doorway and I am ready to follow. I can feel the thud-thud-thud in my chest. My fingers are white knuckled around the piece of wood still burning. A gust of wind bursts through the door and the fire dances in my hand and crawls up my wrist. No one is there. All at once Henri’s body relaxes and he chuckles, looking down at his feet. There, looking up at Henri through the tops of his eyes, is the same beagle I saw yesterday at school. The dog wags his tail and paws at the ground. Henri reaches down and pets him; then the dog pushes past and trots into the house with his tongue dangling.
    “What’s he doing here?” I ask.
    “You know this dog?”
    “I saw him at school. He was following me around yesterday after you dropped me off.”
    I put the piece of wood back and wipe my hand on my jeans, leaving a trail of black ash down the front. The dog sits at my feet and looks up expectantly, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor. I sit on the couch and watch both fires burn. Now that the excitement of the situation is over, my mind goes back to what I just saw in my vision. I can still hear the screams in my ears, still see the way the blood shimmered in the grass in the moonlight, still see the bodies and fallen trees, the red glow in the eyes of the beasts of Mogadore and the terror in the eyes of the Loric.
    I look at Henri. “I saw what happened. At least the beginning of it.”
    He nods. “I thought you might.”
    “I could hear your voice. Were you talking to me?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t understand,” I say. “It was a massacre. There was too much hatred for them to only be interested in our resources. There was more to it than that.”
    Henri sighs and sits on the coffee table across from me. The dog jumps into my lap. I pet him. He’s filthy, his coat stiff and oily under my hand. There is a tag in the shape of a football attached to the front of his collar. It’s an old tag, most of the brown paint worn away. I take it in my hand, the number 19 on one side, the name BERNIE KOSAR on the other.
    “Bernie Kosar,” I say. The dog wags his tail. “I guessthat’s his name, same as that dude in the poster on my wall. Popular guy