White Smoke

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  “Sam!” I scream, diving for him.

  Sammy claws at his throat, eyes frantic, legs kicking. I pull him into my lap.

  “What, what’s wrong, what’s . . . ?”

  Then I smell it. A scent I’m not always used to. One that hasn’t been in our home since Sammy was four. Sweet yet savory, coming from the bowl of oatmeal lying beside him.

  Peanut butter.

  There’s being scared and then there’s being completely petrified. And I hadn’t hit that level until this very moment.

  Sammy strains, helpless and desperate. His sneakers squeaking against the floor.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I reassure him in a shrill voice. “I got you!”

  Piper comes running in and stops short. “What’s happening?” she yelps. “What’s wrong with Sam?”

  Sammy’s lips are swelling, cheeks puffing. Mom made us run practice drills for moments like this. I know what to do, just hope I don’t screw it up.

  “He’s having an allergic reaction,” I cry, lying Sammy on his back and running to the fridge. “He’s going to go into shock. Call 911!”

  Eyes widening, her mouth moves, but no words come out.

  I leap, fishing around the top of the fridge for the cup. Didn’t Mom put them up here? I know she did, I saw her! But there’s no cup, no EpiPen. Instead my fingers graze against something sharp and plastic, like Legos. I reach, grabbing a ball of them and as soon as I open my hand, my stomach drops. It’s the GoPro camera, smashed into pieces.

  “Shit,” I mumble, glancing at Piper, standing frozen in shock, watching Sam struggle, her eyes flooding with tears.

  “Piper, please!” I beg, my own tears exploding as I head for the stairs. “Call 911!”

  In Sammy’s room, I rummage through his backpack. Mom always puts an emergency pen in the front pocket. But the pockets are empty, in all his bags.

  “Fuck!” I scream, waves of panic keep crashing into me as I try to dial Mom, thrashing around her room. He needs his EpiPen. He won’t make it to the hospital alive without it. Where the hell are all the pens?!

  Wait!

  In my room, I dive under my desk, pulling out a file box. I dig around until my hand hits it. The extra EpiPen I threw into my self-care kit before we left Cali. It made me feel safe, knowing I could take care of my brother. I almost forgot about it. But . . . how long has it been in here? Do these things expire? God, Mom, pick up the phone!

  Something black on my bedspread makes me take an impulsive step back, whimpering. I drop the pen, body going rigid.

  FACT: Wait . . . no!

  I take a step forward and on second glance . . . more Lego pieces. The remains of GoPro camera number two crumble in my hands.

  Focus! There’s no time.

  The stench near the bathroom is violent as I race by. Ghosts. Demons. They’re all trying to kill my brother. This house and everything in it has been trying to kill us from the start.

  Back in the kitchen, Piper is standing over Sammy, shaking and crying.

  “He. Can’t. Breathe,” she sobs into the phone, leaning over him.

  Is she really on the phone? Is this all an act?

  “Get away from him!” I scream, shoving her aside. She shrieks, her cries ear-piercing. I need to get Sammy out of here. The house can’t hurt us once we’re outside.

  Sammy’s face is blue as I drag him by the armpits out the door, onto the porch. He strains, the gurgling noises horrific before he goes limp.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I mumble to myself, positioning him. “Grasp the pen. Orange tip down. Remove the cap. Swing, jab, three seconds, click.”

  God, I hope this works!

  Piper drops to her knees beside me, phone still pressed to her ear.

  “He’s not breathing!” Piper shrieks.

  “Please please please,” I whimper before lifting the pen in the air and stabbing it into Sammy’s thigh.

  “He has always been so careful about his allergies,” Mom sniffs outside Sam’s hospital room. “Always looking at ingredients . . . he doesn’t even take trick-or-treat candy. Just pretends! I don’t know how this could’ve happened. And I wasn’t even home! I’m the worst mother! I can’t do anything right!”

  Alec rubs Mom’s back, his forehead sweaty, tie undone.

  “Babe, it’s okay. He’s fine. Mari got to him in time, she knew what to do, just like you taught her. You’re a great mom.”

  Piper stands off to the side, staring at Alec but for a change, not interrupting our parents’ tender moment. Dried tears cover her face, her eyes red and puffy.

  “Are you sure it was peanuts?” Mom sniffs. “We’ve been buying that same brand of oatmeal for years! He just had it yesterday and was fine!”

  “Positive,” the doctor says, her tone clipped. “We’ll monitor him until the morning. For now, he’s safe and in stable condition.”

  Mom cracks with grief and Alec consoles her.

  Piper opens her mouth then closes it, twisting her fingers. She glances at me, then quickly diverts her eyes, staring at the floor in a daze. Maybe she felt the waves of hot anger radiating off my skin. Because if she takes one step in this direction, I might kill her. She has something to do with this. She knows it, I know it. Only a matter of time before we’ll be alone. Fuck an exorcism, I’ll deal with her myself.

  Dad is on an emergency flight from Japan. He cursed and shouted all the way to the airport. He, too, knows Sammy. Knows he would never mix peanut butter in his oatmeal. Something . . . or someone did this to him.

  I’m so busy staring at Piper I don’t even hear my name being called.

  “Marigold,” Mom repeats. “Your brother is asking to see you.”

  The hospital room smells like it’s been drenched in rubbing alcohol, the fluorescents blinding, and I’m immediately brought back to the last time I found myself strapped down to one of these beds. Puke in my hair, dried piss on my thighs . . . stomach cruelly empty.

  “Mari,” Sammy moans, and I rush to his bedside. He’s wrapped in a clean white sheet and hooked up to a monitor. His face is so swollen that his eyes are almost shut.

  “Hey,” I whimper, holding back tears. “Are you okay?”

  He tries to shrug, words slurring over a swollen tongue. “I feel gross.”

  “Sammy, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been watching you. Should’ve never left you alone in the house, not even for one second. I’m such a screwup.”

  “Dude, you can’t watch me every second of every day.”

  I sniff with a laugh. “Yeah. But I’ll die trying.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he says, trying to reassure me.

  I lean onto the bed and hold his hand. “I keep thinking . . . about how all you wanted was to just spend time with me or play video games with David. When really, you were missing Dad.”

  Sammy quickly looks down at his stomach, not responding.

  “You’re always hella chill,” I continue. “Who would even know if something was up with you? And what did I go and do? Blow you off, again and again, until you had to scrape me off the floor so I wouldn’t choke on my own vomit.” I hold back a sob. “You . . . deserve a better sister.”

  “But I don’t want another sister,” he mumbles, trying to smile. “I saved you, then you saved me. So we’re even.”

  I chuckle. “Dude, not even close.”

  Wincing through a deep breath, Sammy glances over my shoulder at the closed door.

  “Did you find the cameras?” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

  “Yeah,” I sniff. “They were both smashed. Piper must have found them again.”

  Sammy tries to swallow. “There was one more.”

  It takes a moment for the words to register. “What?”

  “There’s one more camera. One I didn’t even tell you about, ’cause it’s really old and I wasn’t sure if it would work. It’s in the glass kitchen cabinet, behind Mom’s china.”

  Hope blooms. “Sammy! Dude, you’re a genius!”


  He nods, trying his best to smirk. “There has to be something on there this time. It’ll either prove there really is a ghost . . . or that Piper tried to kill me.”

  Twenty-Two

  IT’S A SILENT ride back to Maplewood. Alec doesn’t even turn on the radio. It feels unnatural, us four without Sammy. But he’s alive, that’s all that matters. And I’m going to get him justice. Only reason why I was even willing to leave the hospital and not sleep in the corner of his room.

  Piper stares out the window, playing with the hem of her jacket, silently sobbing. She doesn’t look at me. Not even once. Probably too full of shame and guilt. That camera is going to prove everything! And when it does, I’m going to murder this little brat. Rage courses through me, searing my veins.

  Alec pulls into the driveway, the house looming over us. Piper’s lava lamp is on, the window glowing red. Was that on when we left? I can’t remember; everything was such a blur when the ambulance arrived.

  “Is . . . anyone hungry?” Mom asks weakly as she heads up the porch steps to unlock the door. Normally, I would be full of dread at just the idea of stepping foot in the house again. But this time . . . I’m pumped with adrenaline. I bounce on the balls of my feet, stretching my calves. All I need to do is run into the kitchen, grab the camera, and book it before anyone can stop me. What to do after that, I don’t know. I don’t even know how it works but I can’t keep it in the house. Things have a funny way of disappearing and it may be the only proof we have to catch Piper.

  As soon as Mom pushes the door open, I practically bulldoze past Alec and am halfway down the hall when I hear a sharp wheezy cough. We all freeze, the darkness hiding our faces.

  “What’s that?” Mom gasps.

  I listen to the silence then hear it again. A loud, wet hacking. Someone’s in the house!

  Alec holds a finger up to his lips, a hand outstretched in front of Piper.

  “Everyone outside,” he whispers, ushering us to the door.

  I tiptoe toward him, then straighten, spinning around in the threshold.

  “Mari, what are you doing?” Mom whispers.

  “Wait,” I utter, muscles hardening. “Where’s Buddy?”

  There’s never been a day that Buddy isn’t jumping for joy within five seconds of us walking in. He should be here by now.

  Stunned, Mom has the same thought and runs inside. “Buddy!”

  Alec turns on the lights.

  “Buddy!” he calls.

  I hear it again, a wet hacking right above our heads.

  “Buddy,” I shout, racing upstairs, Mom trailing me. As soon as I reach the top, I trip over a pillow left in the middle of the floor and fall flat on my face.

  “Oh my God!” Mom yells, and I whip around.

  Buddy lies on his side in front of the bathroom, panting and wheezing, an almost identical scene to Sammy. I lunge, frantically crawling over to him.

  “No, no no no . . . ,” I whimper, stroking his head. “Buddy, it’s okay, boy. I’m here. I’m here!”

  Mom examines him, trying to open his mouth. “Come on, Bud, what did you eat?”

  Buddy struggles, the hacking so much worse up close, eyes rolling back into his skull.

  “Mom, he can’t breathe!”

  Alec gently pushes Mom aside and scoops Buddy up in his arms.

  “Good boy, I’ve got you,” he coos. “Raquel, you drive!”

  I stumble down the stairs after him. “Wait, I’m coming too!”

  “No, Mari,” Mom says, grabbing my arm. “You stay here with Piper!”

  “Buddy?” Piper sobs in the foyer, covering her mouth with both hands. “Daddy, what’s wrong with him?”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Alec shouts over his shoulder, heading for the car, Mom sprints ahead of him to open the door. “We’re just going to take Buddy to the doctor. You stay here with Marigold! Buddy is going to be fine.”

  From the porch, I watch Mom back out the driveway and speed down Maple Street before turning back to the house. Piper stands in the doorway, her little face red and puffy. She meets my gaze, taking a step back, and for the first time, she seems genuinely frightened of me. As she should be.

  “You did this,” I hiss, hands balling into fists.

  Piper violently shakes her head. “NO! It wasn’t me. I swear!”

  I shove past her, stalking into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” Piper cries, chasing me.

  In the cabinet, behind the plates, I find the last GoPro camera, so inconspicuously placed, no one would notice it.

  Piper stares at the camera in my hand, breathing heavily.

  “Mari,” she quivers. “I think we should—”

  “Let’s see you get out of this one,” I snap, and storm toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” she begs.

  “Getting the hell away from you!”

  “Wait, please! I didn’t know Ms. Suga was going to hurt Sammy. I didn’t know!”

  “Cut the bullshit, Piper! You knew!”

  Piper bites her lip, her sobbing tears an insult to injury.

  “Please don’t leave me,” she begs, grabbing my sleeve. “Please! I’m scared!”

  I shake her off, staring into her terrified eyes.

  “Good!” I bark, and slam the door behind me.

  Yusef opens the door in a white T-shirt and dark jeans.

  “Yeah?” he says peevishly, his eyes cold.

  I try to slow my breathing and keep calm, despite being far from that.

  “Can I come in?”

  He sniffs, face blank. “It’s late.”

  “Please,” I say, voice cracking. “I just . . . I need to talk to someone.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he rolls his eyes. “Aight, come on. Just for a minute. Then you gotta get gone.”

  In the living room, I’m surprised to see Pop-Pop still awake in his chair, watching some old black-and-white TV show. He gives me the stank eye as we walk past, into Yusef’s room.

  “You okay?” Yusef asks, without an ounce of real care.

  I sigh. “No, not really.”

  He huffs, turning down his music, and we stand in silence.

  “Heard Sammy’s in the hospital. He good?”

  I nod, nervous that if I open my mouth, I may burst into tears, the images of him too fresh and raw in my head. But then I remember what he told me and pull the GoPro out of my hoodie.

  “You know how to use this thing?”

  Yusef raises an eyebrow at the camera and steps back. “Just need to talk, huh? So you want my help again? Why am I not surprised?”

  A fresh rush of shame comes crashing in.

  “It’s not for me! It’s for Sam. It might be the only thing that’ll help answer what happened to him. Please!”

  “You something else,” he grumbles, shaking his head, then motioning to the bed. “Have a seat. Once we done, you can be out.”

  I glance at his bedframe, my arm inflaming. “Can I, um, borrow a chair from the kitchen? Or I can just stand.”

  He follows my eyes and flinches. “Oh! Uh, yeah. I’ll get another chair. Here, have mine.”

  Yusef’s computer chair is leather and rather new compared to the rest of his room. I sit, not totally at ease, but after the day I’ve had, I can’t stand on my feet for much longer.

  He places a kitchen chair next to mine, then begins nervously playing around with the wires behind the monitor.

  “You know . . . ,” he starts. “I’d, uh, never try something with you or nothing like that.”

  I frown at him. “Huh?”

  He doesn’t meet my eye. “That’s why you didn’t want to sit on the bed, right?”

  Seconds pass before I let out an exhausted laugh. “Dude, it’s not that. I’m . . . afraid of bedbugs.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “What?”

  As he sets up the GoPro, I give him the rundown on my bug phobia, and honestly, it feels like a weight off my chest, telling the truth, sharin
g a glimpse of the world through my head.

  Change is good. Change is necessary. Change is needed.

  “But I don’t get how weed helps you. Doesn’t that make you more . . . paranoid?”

  I shake my head. “There’s two strands: sativa and indica. Indica is good for relaxing and pain relief. Doesn’t have the hallucinogenic effect.”

  “You sound like a professional,” he muses. “Never tried the stuff.”

  “Yeah. And I don’t blame you for hating it. It’s not right, what happened here, with your family. Especially when weed is legal everywhere else. I should’ve been more sensitive to that. I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget what’s important to me. Or . . . who.”

  Yusef blinks back surprise, and just as he opens his mouth, an image pops on the screen.

  He frowns. “Isn’t that your kitchen?”

  The camera gives a bird’s-eye view of the kitchen and family room in the background, part of the fridge blocking the hallway. Yusef nods, impressed.

  “Yo, you ever see that movie Paranormal Activity?” he chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

  “It’s one of Sammy’s favorites. He loves the whole series. Too boring for me. It’s like watching paint dry, waiting for something to move every fifteen minutes.”

  Yusef cackles. “It speeds up at the end.”

  Thinking of Sam, I glance at the GoPro and catch a sob in my throat.

  “I always miss the ending. We . . . Sammy and I . . . we used to watch movies every Friday night. Ever since he was five, Sammy would always pick horror movies since he never wanted to watch them alone. He needed others around to feel safe. Last year, I started missing movie nights, ’cause of track meets or whatever. Truth is, being at home was . . . uncomfortable. I’d see black spots everywhere, finding bites no one could see, scratching all the time. Felt like I was going crazy. You know, I haven’t slept more than four hours a night in years. It’s why I always fell asleep during movies. That and the Percs, made me so damn sleepy. Then, one day, Sammy made me promise that I’d do movie night with him. And I wanted to keep that promise, so I went the whole day without taking one pill. But . . . by the last bell . . . I felt like I was ready to fling myself into the sun, I was so itchy. So I thought, no Percs, I’ll just smoke some weed. Figured, if I just take a quick hit then maybe I could last through the entire movie for once. I was out of my stash and my connect got pinched. My ex . . . said he knew a guy and I trusted him. Last thing I really remember was walking into my room. Sammy found me foaming at the mouth. Turns out the weed was laced with fentanyl.”