by Adalynn Rafe
I pushed my back against the wall and inched forward slowly, trying to remain calm.
There it was again. It’s a dreaded noise to hear, especially when walking in a darkened tunnel alone. It was the sound of a person whimpering, crying, sobbing. Perhaps all of the above.
Instinctually, I headed toward the noise, and after a few yards came across a small cubby that had been dug out by the coal miners. In the cubby on the floor lay three people curled up and crying.
Why were they there? My first thought was that they were lost . . . in a mine . . . that’s abandoned. But then I saw that they were chained to the wall.
It made sense now! They were the kidnapped girls that everyone was talking about!
I dropped to my knees and examined their soot-filled faces—where tears had traced lines through the black dust that caked their skin—making them indistinguishable. Tattered rags hardly covered their bodies and they must have been freezing. Fragile and skeletal––I wondered how they were even alive, let alone when they ate last!
I wanted to ask them who did this. It was pointless, because they wouldn’t be able to hear me. That meant that there was nothing I could do for them. I couldn’t break their bonds of imprisonment or even bring them sustenance. I was dead and had nothing to offer to these poor, starving girls.
A scream sounded, echoing down the dark tunnel. Alert, I stood up and gazed in the direction from which it came. A bad feeling hit me hard, like a punch to the stomach.
She screamed once again and I heard a smack. My mouth opened and I quickly covered it with my hand when I discovered a scream of my own exiting.
The girl ran toward me, her face filled with fright and tears. Multiple bruises covered her skin, as if she had been beaten over and over again. A shoulder was exposed and her shirt torn.
I saw her face more clearly and—and I recognized that it was Sabrina.
I stepped away from her, not knowing what I could possibly do!
This had to be real and it had to be in current time.
“Sabrina!” a man yelled down the tunnel. “You think you can just call the cops!? I’ll show you what happens when you call the cops!”
“No!” Sabrina screamed out again. She sobbed as her body trembled.
The three girls huddled together, fright filling their faces at the sound of the man’s voice. Sabrina tried to join them, but they pushed her away. “Please!” she begged them as she cried harder.
Stomping loudly, he came closer to us. But, who was this man that reigned terror upon the girls? Some sick serial killer? And how did he get into our small city?
Crying out, she begged for him not to hurt her. She tried to hide, but there was nowhere. My heart went numb as I watched Sabrina cry and beg for mercy from this man. Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head in fright.
I have to fix this . . . I have to make things right . . .
Everything disappeared from me and my world went black once again.
Chapter 24
Cecily sat on the floor in front of a tall mirror that she had propped up against the wall. She was applying her makeup to be way too dark and her lacy black shirt revealed her skanky red bra. Some rap song played in the background.
“I thought I was returning to Earth!” I threw my arms up and stared at the ceiling. “I know what I have to do now!”
Then, the song changed. “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” by U2 came on.
Cecily looked at her stereo, confused, as if she wasn’t expecting this song to be playing. I sat down next to her, the white dress billowing around me, and stared at her. I knew where she was going . . . it was to that party.
“You’re going to die tonight,” I informed her.
Cecily looked in my direction. Her eyes were red, like she had been crying. I wanted to believe that she heard me, but I had come to accept the fact that the living couldn’t see or hear the dead.
“I said you are going to die tonight!” I yelled, louder. “And then guess what? Adie dies and so does Hazel—after you get her hooked on drugs!”
Her face paled. I knew the look on her face, for I had felt it a million times before now. I knew her sorrows, her worries . . . the pain that filled her chest and refused to leave, carving a black rugged hole into her soul. I knew her because I was her. “What?” she whispered.
In complete shock, I looked around the room quickly. Was this real—was she talking to me? Could she possibly . . .
She took a quick sip from a silver flask at her side.
I felt ridiculous trying to talk to my living self, but I had to at least try. What if I could get through to her . . . would it even change anything?
“You can stop this.” My hands folded in my lap, like I was some ambassador from a foreign realm. “Don’t go tonight and everything will be fine. You won’t commit suicide, you won’t kill your best friend or sister, and––” I thought about Kelly. My heart began to sink when I thought about losing him, and I fought the urge to slouch and drop my head.
“I see you.” Cecily’s eyes narrowed, examining me for a long second.
My lips pursed as I stared into identical hazel eyes. Why now? Why can she see me now? Of all the times I had yelled and screamed to gain her attention, she finally saw me now. In her room. Free from immediate harm—I glanced at the silver flask again—sorta. My eyebrow cocked up. More so . . . why isn’t she more shocked by this?
Then she stood up—me at her side—flask in hand. She meandered over to her drawing, the dark one with the forest and running girl, and stared down at it. Bags gathered under her dimmed eyes, and her foundation plastered face looked exhausted. Matted pink cheeks suggested she was feverish. When she moved her hair over her shoulder I saw the bite from Mr. Leison. I shivered. “This isn’t real. In my need of something light in my life, I’ve created you, a happier version of me. I wish you were real, that you could stop this pain. You’re just a figment of my imagination, a somehow hopeful being, aren’t you?”
“I’m not an imaginary friend or a hallucination,” I stated, leaning my hip against the desk. “And you aren’t crazy—just stupid.”
Laughing, she set her flask down on the desk. “My hallucination is reasoning with me.” She shook her head. “I’m not even high yet.”
My eyebrow shot up and I dared her to argue further. “I’m you, can’t you see that?”
Cecily pursed her lips, annoyed. “You’re my conscience. That is what you are.” A dark smirk twisted onto her face. “Well, screw off already because I’m not listening.”
“I’ve seen the consequences of you dying . . . Cecily Ann Wolf.”
“What are they, then? I get kicked to hell? I know that Adie dies.” Remorse flashed across her gleaming eyes. “Everyone knows that . . .”
“Well, Hazel dies too! She has a nasty abortion because she was raped in your place at that stupid party. And the three girls that are being held captive in a mine––they’ll die. I have a strong suspicion about a serial killer, I don’t know who, though. To think that you could stop it all––if you weren’t so selfish!”
She looked away—hiding her face. “How do you know—?”
I stared at her, dead serious, enough to make her stop midsentence. “Lives are depending on you to get it together. Don’t go tonight, Ces.” I stood beside her, the two of us before the mirror now. She stood in front of the mirror and smoothed her hand over her lacy blouse, and then examined the white dress that covered my body. Tears filled her eyes. “You need to save these people. If you’re dead, you can’t . . . I’ve already tried.”
Cecily stared into my face—her old face. “You can’t be real.”
I put my hands out. “Let’s see. Touch me.”
She put her hands up, but backed out of it. “No! You’re not real!”
Pushing my hands toward her, I pressured her into touching me. “Just try!”
“Fine,” she said. She exhaled a deep breath before holding her hands up.
; “On the count of three . . . ,” I said.
“One.” We moved closer to each other. “Two.” Cecily started to cut out. “Three.”
Cecily disappeared and I was surrounded in white.
Darkness surrounded me soon after.
PART II: REACTION
There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The
Distortion is a thing of the past, a particle of the future, and the rippling of any present moment.
Chapter 25
The floor is not the most comfortable place to wake up. After sitting up, I rub my aching head softly. It seems that I fell over something and crash landed on my hard floor. Um . . . ouch!
Music is playing, though not very loud. It smells different here, like stinging sweetness. For some reason I recognize the smell and I suddenly want to puke. Why does it feel like I’ve been in a long nap, a nap too good to be true?
More of my purple bedding is on the floor than my bed. The blinds on the window are crooked, like I had woken in the night with a horrible nightmare and ripped them down. I’d had those types of nightmares before, when Papa died.
My phone rings, startling me enough that my heart skips a beat. I crawl across the floor, somehow extremely dizzy, and to the mirror. On the ground in front of it is my phone.
“Yellow?” I answer while rubbing my head, confused. It hurts a lot, and my forehead is warmer than usual. Perhaps I’m sick?
“Purple,” Hazel replies. I notice that sweet-sour smell on my hand when it comes near my face and I sniff it carefully. It’s putrid and I move my hand away, staring at it like it’s covered in acid. There is liquor on my skin—but—but why? “CECILY!” she yells, the phone speaker blaring, causing me to rip the phone away.
“I can hear you just fine!” I bark. Confusion sweeps over me when I see scars running across my wrists. I bring the phone back to my ear slowly. “Don’t yell at me, Hazel. I’m not feeling well. I think something is terribly wrong.” I hide a gasp.
She sounds so impatient, or nervous, maybe. “Dude, are you drunk already?”
“What?” I ask, my eyes widening in shock.
“I’m not letting you drive if you’re wasted,” she warns.
I shake my head quickly, but it makes me dizzy. “I’m not wasted!” I yell desperately. “I’m just confused! I promise!”
“Chill out, Ces!” Hazel laughs—a sound that helps comfort my terrified mind. “I’m confused too! Dude, where are you? You said you’d be here, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“For the party?” I ask, starting to remember what is going on. I feel sick.
Hazel sighs impatiently. “Yes, the party! The one that the duchess invited you to!”
“Yeah,” I remember. At lunch two days ago Sabrina gave me a flyer for the party tonight. She nearly threatened me if I didn’t show. “I fell asleep on the floor. Calm down, child.”
“We gonna go?” she wonders. “You were rather adamant about it . . .”
Glancing into the mirror almost gives me a heart attack. I scream out and almost drop my phone. I look horrible, with black makeup covering my eyes and dark purple lipstick on my lips.
“What?” Hazel exclaims. “What’s wrong?”
“Demon!” I open my mouth to check for a tongue piercing––not knowing how extreme I have become––which luckily isn’t there. A relieved sigh escapes me.
“Demon?” Hazel asks as I start wiping the makeup off my face.
What has become of me?
“You know what, give me another twenty and I’ll be there to pick you up,” I say. I don’t know where we’ll go or what we’ll do, but I’ll be there. I need my best friend! “Promise.”
“Fine, weirdo! Hurry it up!” Hazel laughs. “Loves?”
“Loves.” I smile with relief. I am loved, it’s not the end of the world, and I am not all alone in whatever funky thing is going on with me. I click the end button and hang up.
The first thing I do is finish wiping the gallon-or-so of makeup off my eyes. It looks absolutely horrible! It leaves nasty black circles around my eyes, but then I smell the alcohol on my arm and wonder if the circles are just natural. A shudder courses through me.
I rip the dark clothing off me and throw it on the ground. I dig through my drawers for completely new clothing, and when I go to put a normal looking bra on, I see huge bruises on my ivory chest, which seems too bony. My eyes widen as I gasp. “Where did these come from?”
Clearly, I don’t know or remember what is going on with myself and how I am the way I am. But it is not me! Could possession be real? Because I am sure that a demon imposter was using my body for all sorts of bad things that I don’t even want to know about!
I change my clothes into something that is more . . . me, like some skinny jeans and a blue baggy shirt with a cute belt. This whole bra-showing-through-lace thing is not going to work for me; besides, the cover-up job of the bruises on my abdomen is sloppy. It is obvious that something is being hidden under all that concealer.
Staring at the white ceiling, I outstretch my arms and allow a few tears to leak from my eyes. “What is going on?” I ask loudly, trying to make sense of what has happened. The fan spins and all I get in return is a slight breeze. Not exactly what I was expecting for an answer, but whatever.
Suddenly, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” is blaring through the silent room and I jump ten feet off the ground like a startled cat.
I stumble over myself and the things that clutter my floor to smash the off-button with my hand on the stereo. A sigh releases from me and I am holding my head with my hands. I look around at the cluttered mess, which is the least of things to surprise me.
After a quick application of mascara and light eye shadow, I gather all my stuff together and shove it into my patchwork messenger bag before heading out of my room. Looking back one more time, I decide to leave the wooden door open for some reason. I quickly run down the stairs and to the front door.
“Cecily?” my mother asks hesitantly from the other room when I reach the foyer. “Are you okay? I heard a crash.”
Normally, I would roll my eyes and ignore her. But at this moment, it feels good to hear her say my name. I have no idea why.
There is no answer from my lips for her question, but I would probably say no. She would think it’s for reasons other than the true reason––which is from being disoriented and panicked by my demonic shadow––so I remain quiet. They already assume I’m bat-crap crazy, I’m sure.
After placing my hand on the doorknob, I pause for just a second. Usually, I’d run out of here like a five-year-old out of a playpen, seeking sweet freedom from the plastic hell I’d been locked in and the horrible germ filled toys that I’d been forced to play with. But I don’t this time. No, I just listen for a minute.
In the living room I can hear Jema, Daphne, and Adie laughing about something. There is just something that I need to do before leaving. What it is exactly? I have no freaking clue! But their laughter calls to me like a soothing lullaby, one that I haven’t heard for a quite a while.
The three girls are sitting on the floor, as usual, watching old black and white horror movies. I lean against the red wall of the living room and swoop my foot along the small step that leads down. I stare at them with a smile on my face and realize that I have missed them so much––more than I could ever imagine.
“Uh, oh––creep alert!” Adie yells, her brown eyes lighting up with suspicion. Yet, in the very corners of her lips, I see a smile of relief.
Daphne and Jema start throwing popcorn at me. “Back, you demon child! Back to where ever it is that you crawled out of!” Daphne yells in a deep voice. Her orange hair is wildly surrounding her face––and if anything, she looks like she’s the one that walked out of a horror movie.
I take the small step down and stand before them with a grin on my face. The funny thing is that they are completely serious about me being the demon child! Hysterical!
Without any warning, I jump over their bodies and smash all three of them to the ground. “Say what?” I wiggle, making them cry out underneath my weight. “You miss me? You love me? What?”
“Off . . . demon child . . . !” Daphne is breathless from me smashing her lungs. Jegging covered legs kick into the air as she tries to free herself. “You’re killing me, demon!”
After rolling off them, I start laughing. Daphne adjusts her green top when she sits up so that her cleavage is showing once more. “You’re a skank,” I say to her and shock myself at my own words.
“Coming from a drunkard,” she spits back and combs a hand through her luscious orange hair. She sniffs in my direction. “You don’t reek of liquor for once.”
That’s because I rinsed if off my arms and changed my clothes, thanks for asking. “For once?” I ask, after thinking for a minute. “What does that mean?”
“You know what that means, dork. As of the past week, you’re an alcoholic!”
I breathe on my hand and sniff it to check for any signs of alcohol. She is right, but only by a trace . . . “This is worse than I thought,” I whisper, mortified.
Daphne gives me the weirdest look ever. “Um, Cecily?”
“Why didn’t you smack me if you knew I was doing bad things!?”
The three girls exchange confused looks.
“You are acting like you just saw the apocalypse and want to change your dark ways.” Jema sits up on the couch and her hand combs through her brunette hair as her blue eyes pierce through me. She’s rather modest with a long sleeve top and sweats. “Why are you acting so innocent?”
“I’m not acting at all!” Tears suddenly filled my eyes and I stared down at my scarred wrists. “What has happened to me? I love you so much, but here you are accusing me of lying and—and stuff . . . what have I done?”
Daphne laughs, as if amused. “Did you seriously have an exorcism and not invite us?!”
“You’re actually talking to us?” Jema’s blue eyes fill with hope as she stares up at me. “What happened to make you change, Ces?” she asks again, more intensely.
