by Leigh Walker
As I hustled down the street, I thought about my dream. The school was only half a mile away, so I slowed down a bit and took out the granola bar, half lost in my thoughts and half hoping my hair would dry a little before first period.
What was that dream about? The boy had been handsome, startlingly so. His black hair was close-cropped, showing off his chiseled features and prominent cheekbones, and he had dark eyes fringed by thick lashes. I didn’t understand why he’d felt so familiar or why I’d been drawn to him. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him before. Yes, he was handsome, but he’d been floating outside my bedroom window at four o’clock in the morning. That was not attractive.
But I remembered how I’d felt when he vanished. I’d been heartbroken.
I shook my head as I finished the granola bar. It was a crazy dream, but at least it was something to think about. As I headed inside the school, I had a lighter step than I’d had in months.
“You look…cute.” Katie frowned at my wet hair. “And like you just sprinted here from the shower.”
“That’s about right.” I smiled at her. “How was your morning?”
“Fine. Trina stole my new shirt, so I retaliated by taking all of her gum and packing the last cookie for myself.” She shrugged. “Ready for chem?”
I wrinkled my nose as we headed into the lab, which smelled vaguely of formaldehyde. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The jars on the shelves held various previously animated objects, from a toad to a newt to an alligator’s eye, which our teacher had claimed she’d found on the side of a canal in Florida. Said teacher, Ms. Barnes, cleared her throat as we took our seats. “Open your textbooks to page three hundred thirty-three. We start our new chapter on kinetics.”
Several of the students groaned, but Ms. Barnes beamed at the class. “Kinetics is a fascinating field of study. It involves measuring the effects of forces that produce or change the motion of masses.”
“Huh?” Katie blinked at me. “I should have stopped for a mochaccino with an extra shot.”
“You can say that again.” I dutifully opened my book to page three hundred thirty-three, hoping that what I would find there could explain, in English, whatever it was Ms. Barnes was rambling about. Instead, I found a note written in refined, looping script in the margins of the book.
Dear Reader,
I’ve left something for you in the back of this book.
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
Who wrote that? It was a newer textbook, and I’d never seen any notes in it before. When I turned to the back of the book, I found an ivory envelope addressed to no one. I stole a glance at Katie, but she was staring, brow furrowed, at her textbook.
I flipped back to the page we were on and slid the envelope in between the pages. Why was my heart thudding? I prayed that I wasn’t about to have another panic attack, but this felt different. Excitement zipped through me. Again, as with the dream from the previous night, I was thrilled to feel something other than grief or anxiety.
The letter inside was written in ink, in the same looping script, on heavy ivory paper.
Dear Reader,
I would’ve left this inside the pages, but I do enjoy leaving a trail for you.
I have a request. A favor, if you will.
On your walk after school today, turn your attention toward the pond. You will see a gate in the water. Go to the gate at midnight tonight, when the moon is high in the sky, and have a closer look. I’m sure you’re scoffing at this, but search your heart—you know you’ll be safe.
In any event, what do you have to lose?
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
I slid the letter into my bag and stared blankly at the words in my book.
And then I started counting the minutes until I could leave school.
4
The Gate
I ducked out of seventh period just as the bell rang, eager to avoid Katie because I hadn’t told her about the letter. She would nag me, just like a worried best friend should. But I’d already thought about all the bad things that could happen if I followed the letter’s instructions. I could be kidnapped, attacked, or dragged into the pond at midnight by some crazy stalker, but I wasn’t as worried as I should be. What do you have to lose? That question, asked so casually in the letter, played over and over in my mind. What did I have to lose, indeed?
Once I got to the pond, I slowed down. Even in early spring, ice clung to the sides of the bank. I’d walked that way hundreds of times since starting high school, but I’d never really looked at my surroundings. Instead, I’d taken them for granted, like so many other things. But now I paid attention to the scrappy-looking trees and brush growing on the banks. A woeful collection of juvenile-delinquent litter—candy-bar wrappers, empty beer cans, and cigarette butts—was strewn across the banks. And farther down was the gate. A gate in the water. I shivered.
How did I never notice it before? It was a small section of a white picket fence, half in the water and half out, blocking the sticks and debris that flowed to the pond from nearby drainage ditches. The streams emptied into a small basin at the base of the gate. The water looked deep enough to come waist high, but perhaps it was even deeper.
I’m supposed to come here at midnight? When it’s pitch-black? Shivering, I wrapped my jacket tightly around me, then I hurried to the Dixons’.
That night, I went to bed early and just lay there, staring out the window and wondering what my dream had been about and who the strange letter was from. I felt certain that the boy and the letter were connected. Two strange events in less than twelve hours made it seem like a no-brainer, but the problem was you didn’t even really need a brain to comprehend that none of it made sense.
The boy was a dream, and the letter was some sort of scam. I could think of no good reason for me to go to the pond in the middle of the night. It wasn’t logical. Still, I couldn’t not go. I felt compelled, in every cell of my body, to find out what was going on, who had written the letter, and if it had been meant for me specifically. In the end, I wasn’t sure I even cared. I was simply glad to be thinking about something other than my mom and Izzy.
When it was almost time, I slipped out of bed and put on jeans, a T-shirt, and my favorite warm hoodie. I grabbed three things. First was the picture of the three of us, one we’d taken the previous Thanksgiving. People always commented on how much we looked alike. We all had blond hair, the same coloring, and the same cheekbones. But my mother was the prettiest. She had the nicest smile. She’d told me over and over that she’d never really smiled until she became a mother. “I saw a picture of me with you as a baby, and I thought, ‘Oh! My smile goes all the way to my eyes!’ I’d never been that happy before.”
The smile definitely reached her eyes in the picture I held. Mom had her arms wrapped around Iz and me, and the three of us were laughing. Our waitress at the Chinese restaurant had taken the picture, saying that we were a lovely family.
I put the photograph in my back pocket and grabbed the can of pepper spray my mother had given me when I’d started jogging. She’d insisted that I carry it if I went on a trail alone. Finally, I put on some lip gloss Izzy had given me for my birthday. I rarely wore makeup, and she’d only bought it so she could borrow it from me, but I didn’t mind. Its bubblegum smell reminded me of her.
When I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, I paused. My long, thick hair hung limply over my shoulders. My face was pale and pinched. My mother would not want me to go to the pond. She would warn me that all the pepper spray in the world couldn’t really protect me. Izzy would say that I was crazy, and she would definitely cry and beg me to stay.
But they were gone. Their imagined worry made it seem even more important for me to go, to get away from their fresh ghosts. I put on my long puffer coat, listening for noises outside my room. Mr. Dixon was snoring. Exhausted from a long day with three-year-old twins, Mrs. Dixon was also likely fast asleep. Holding my breath, I snuck down the stair
s and out the front door of my foster family’s home.
The cold nipped at my cheeks, but the fresh air revived me. With the streetlights on, the family-friendly neighborhood didn’t seem scary. It was, however, silent. The quiet roared in my ears. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and hustled down the sidewalk, heading back toward school. No one else was awake. The cars parked on the street were empty and dark, and the lights in all the houses were turned off.
I wondered if someone was waiting for me at the pond and clutched my pepper spray, vowing to spray first and ask questions later—during the daytime, when I was safe and near a police officer. Though I was vaguely worried about a panic attack, I felt strangely calm, more alive and engaged than I had in what seemed like forever.
The calm drained from my body as I neared the pond. It was darker there. I took out my cell phone and turned on the flashlight app, which didn’t do much but was better than nothing. I walked down the embankment and stopped when I reached the stream. My light showed the white gate, half submerged in the water and half out, and the dark pond beyond. I couldn’t see anyone else.
They could be crouched in the shadows, behind a bush or a tree. I listened, concentrating hard on my surroundings. But all I heard was the water flowing.
I jumped over the stream. On the other side, closer to the pond, I hesitated and looked around wildly, waving my flashlight in every direction. No one sprang out from the bushes—at least not yet.
Heart pounding in my ears, I crept closer to the gate. A small embankment separated the drainage streams from the pond. It was where the gate was secured. The water passed underneath it, possibly through a manmade tunnel into the pond. I shined my flashlight on the patch of muddy grass behind the gate and saw, wedged in between two rocks, another ivory envelope. This one had my name on it.
Dear Reader, I thought, this is nuts!
Nuts or not, I’d come this far, so I had to know what the letter said. I snatched the envelope and purposefully moved away from the water’s edge. Wielding my light with shaking hands, I read the note.
Dearest Victoria,
You made it. I’m never really sure how this part’s going to go, so perhaps it’s a good sign you responded so quickly. You’re often quite difficult!
This next request will seem a little extreme—it always does. But I’m afraid there’s no getting around it. You need to wade into the stream and swim under the fence. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, the side you can’t see from here. I can just imagine you now, shaking your head, thinking there’s no way on God’s green earth you’re going to do this.
Alas, there’s no other way. You have to come through. The things you’ve lost… They will come back to you. But you must return to the kingdom in order to find them.
You’re needed here for more than that, of course. It’s time for the Trade. My mother’s about to have my head if I put her off again.
Ah, I know you’re hesitating. I also understand that you likely have no idea what I’m talking about. But have a little faith. Because really, that’s all you have left, isn’t it?
So hold your breath and be brave. The water is cold, but passage doesn’t take long.
I’ll see you on the other side. I promise.
Sincerely,
Moi
I had the rather illogical urge to find this Moi and smack him across the face. Though I wasn’t sure why I was so certain that the author was male, for some reason, it seemed right. No woman would be so cruelly cryptic or ask me to wade into a freezing stream in the middle of the night and swim into filthy, dark water. I paced the bank. No way was I going to swim underneath that fence—it was madness. Who wrote this? Who is doing this to me?
“Is this some sort of joke?” I hiss-whispered at the darkness. “Because it’s not funny.”
No one answered. I clutched the note in my hand. The kingdom. The Trade. Whoever had written it was a lunatic. The only thing that kept me from running away was the other thing the letter had said, the thing that tugged at me. The things you’ve lost… They will come back to you.
I looked at the dark water. If it meant that I could have my mother and sister back, I would swim through fire. But that wasn’t possible. They were dead and gone.
Why am I even considering this? Looking at the letter again, I studied the looping, perfect script. I wondered if I was hallucinating, if maybe I had snapped from too much grief and the letter was my mind’s way of bringing me relief. If I went into the water, I could die. It was certainly cold enough, and it was the middle of the night. If I got stuck or something else happened, no one would hear my cries. No one would know. Maybe my mind was trying to trick me into such a scheme to lure me away from my sadness forever.
But I knew in my heart that I wasn’t ready to die. Whatever spark was inside people, the thing that drove us to get out of bed every morning and continue to face the world, even when it was unbearable—I still felt that spark inside of me. That was how I’d managed to drag myself to school every day. In spite of who I’d lost, I wanted to live. I didn’t even know why—perhaps it was some base, irrefutable instinct. But I knew that if someone jumped out of the bushes at me, I would fight for my life until my last breath. I would fight to live.
I clutched the letter, the paper heavy and thick. It was no hallucination. Even when I’d had the panic attacks and felt completely out of control, I’d known I wasn’t crazy. The letter and what it was asking me to do was nuts, but I wasn’t.
I walked across the embankment and peered at the pond. The water was still, silent, and the surface looked like smooth, perfect glass. What’s in there? Why do I have to swim underneath the gate to ‘cross over?’ Whoever wrote the letter had said they would be waiting for me on the other side, but I was staring right at the pond. What else is there?
Carefully, I made my way back down the embankment until I came even with the gate. I listened to the stream waters bubble and run together, heading straight through the fence to the pond, and checked my coat pockets. My cell phone, the pepper spray, and some tissues were all I had. I took off my jacket and put it on the edge of the embankment. Remembering the photograph, I took it from my back pocket and tucked it inside my coat.
I was an excellent swimmer. If I got in and it seemed too risky, I would immediately climb back out. I had zero desire to hurt myself, but my fear was trumped by flaming curiosity—first the boy, then the letters. A mystery. A mystery was so much better than the tragedy I’d found myself living.
The things you’ve lost… They will come back to you. Moi had been right. All I had left was my faith and the crazy feeling that I should do what the letter asked.
Taking one last look around, I waded into the water.
5
Daybreak
My boots kept me from sliding across the muck, but they filled quickly with freezing water. By the time I’d waded up to my calves, my teeth were chattering. The closer I got to the gate, the deeper the basin got. I glanced back to where my warm coat and cell phone lay abandoned. I’m just going to check to see if there’s anything under here, then I’m getting out. But I wasn’t sure how I was going to check. It was pitch black out, and it would be even darker underwater.
Have a little faith. The words rang in my ears, but they seemed hollow as my legs started to go numb and the water crept up to my thighs. I took another step and gasped when I landed deeper than expected. The freezing, dank water suddenly rose to my waist.
Another lurching step forward, and I made it to the gate. I looked up at the sky and saw the stars twinkling peacefully. Though I knew I should climb back out, I’d already come so far. I touched the boards of the fence and traced them down into the water, feeling where they ended. The current ran stronger underneath. That was where I had to swim.
This is code-red crazy! Suddenly, my blandly tragic existence didn’t seem so bad anymore. It seemed downright cozy. I hesitated, not knowing what to do. I thought about the boy again, and the letter with my name on it.<
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I’m just going to have a look. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy wondering. I vowed to give it two seconds underwater, three tops. Then I would scramble back to the safety and warmth of my coat and run to the Dixons’ without looking back.
I took a deep breath and went all the way under, all at once. Keeping my hands on the bottom of the pickets, I used them to propel myself beneath the surface. I opened my eyes underwater and saw nothing, only a confusing blur of blackness.
One. With a hand still firmly clutching the board, I swam a little farther in. The top of my head scraped against something hard, probably the concrete of the tunnel.
Two. I stretched out my free hand but only felt water rushing swiftly through the tunnel. My eyes adjusted, and I could barely make out some light on the other side, which was where the pond was, exposed to the open sky.
Three. The light from the other side was close enough that I could make it in one stroke, one second. I let go of the gate and dove through the short tunnel. The color of the water lightened, and I swam up, fully expecting to break through the surface on the other side.
And I did. Gasping for breath, I was flooded with relief as my feet found purchase, and I stood, realizing the water was only waist-high again. But as I wiped my eyes, my jaw dropped open.
I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
It was daybreak, not the middle of the night. The sun peeked just above the horizon. The pond wasn’t the pond. I was standing in the shallows of a large lake with mountains in the distance. When I whipped around, neither the embankment nor the gate was behind me. My puffer coat was gone. The drainage ditch was gone, too. A gray, sandy beach dotted with pebbles, and a forest farther up the bank had replaced them. Okay. Maybe that pep talk I’d given myself about not being crazy was a little too optimistic.
