by Kiki Howell
Remy flung a shoe at Cassie. The shoe missed her head by inches. Laughing maniacally, Cassie skipped into the bathroom; the lock clicked behind her. Chasing her sister down the hallway, Remy loudly pounded on the door.
“Remina,” her mother bellowed from the kitchen. Remy kicked the bathroom door in spite and clumped back to their shared bedroom. Rooting through her drawers, she unearthed a wrinkled blue dress, suitable for family occasions. She gave it a hasty sniff and decided it was acceptably clean. Whipping it over her head, she dragged a brush through the snarled mess of brown hair.
Racing out the bedroom, Remy careened around the corner and crashed into Cassie, who emerged from the bathroom and shoved her backward into the bannister. The two girls elbowed each other as they descended the stairs, fighting to reach the landing first. Their scuffle exploded into the foyer. The front door swung open, knocking Cassie backward. She stumbled over Remy and the two landed painfully on the staircase.
“Ow.” Remy shoved Cassie off her legs.
“Hey,” retorted Cassie, landing hard on the step below Remy. She took swipe at Remy’s face.
“Stop now,” commanded Grandfather, gruffly; he glared down at the two of them from the doorway. “You are ladies; act like it,” he instructed sternly.
Both girls hung their heads. “Sorry, Grandfather,” they chirped in unison.
“Cassandra, please tell your father I am here.” He patiently waited until Cassie disappeared behind the swinging door before addressing Remy. “Remina, please escort me into the living room, we have something important to discuss.”
“Okay,” swallowed Remy. She followed him, twisting her fingers behind her back.
Grandfather spoke over his shoulder as he stumped toward the living room. “I hear today is your thirteenth birthday.”
“It is,” confirmed Remy.
“That is typically an important day in our society.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“Have there been any changes this morning?” he asked curiously, turning around, his grey eyes inspecting Remy.
“No, sir,” replied Remy, softly, understanding his question immediately.
“Did you attempt anything?”
“I tried to move a pencil,” she admitted glumly.
“Humph,” Grandfather muttered, resuming his slow pace. He paused in the entryway between the hallway and the living room. “It’s quite festive in here,” he stated tactfully, drinking in the lurid trimmings.
“It was Cassie’s idea,” Remy replied with a grimace.
“Ah, I might have guessed as much. I know this is not your doing.”
Remy glanced at him curiously. Did Grandfather know her favorite color?
“I do and it is lavender.”
Remy’s jaw dropped.
“Yes, dear girl, I can hear thoughts. It is one of my gifts.” He shoved a pink balloon off an armchair and sat, studying her carefully. “I would like to try an experiment. Are you willing to participate?”
“Yes, sir,” Remy answered, moving directly in front of him and clasping her hands behind her back. He indicated a three-tiered frosted monstrosity adorning the center of the piano – another one of Cassie’s pink pranks.
“I want you to move the cake,” he instructed.
Taking a deep breath, Remy pivoted and stared at the dessert, willing it to slide across the piano cover. She scrunched her eyes tightly, whispering to the cake.
“That is enough,” Grandfather held up his hand. “I can see it is no use.”
“I can do it,” declared Remy, forcefully.
“Alright, you may try again.”
“No.” Father’s voice echoed from the hallway. “There is no need to continue to test her; she has no abilities.”
“Are you certain?” Grandfather twisted partially in the armchair. “We must take precaution, Gregory, these things can be tricky especially when the child is,” he paused, “unique.”
Ignoring their conversation, Remy glared irately at the horrid cake. Stupid cake, she wished it would just explode; it shifted. “Oh,” Remy gasped, glancing at her grandfather, still conversing with her father.
“I have everything under control,” her father declared, entering the room.
The cake shifted again.
“Remy, look at me,” directed her father, kneeling in front of Remy. He took her thin arms in his large hands. “I know you want to believe you have abilities, however it’s just not your time yet.”
“But, I can do it,” Remy stated, a bubble of happiness in her chest. Her shining eyes turned to her father. “Look!” she exclaimed joyously.
He gathered her quickly in a tight hug, blocking the cake from view. “No, you cannot.”
“I can,” pouted Remy, her lower lip trembled. “I just did it.”
“It was a trick,” her father said quietly. “Grandfather moved the cake.”
Remy turned to her grandfather, biting her lip to hold back the tears. “Why would you do that? I thought I was finally special.”
“You are special,” her father whispered.
“No,” yelled Remy. She placed her hands on her father’s chest and shoved. Shock crossed his face; he released her immediately, as if electrocuted, and clutched his arm. Collapsing, her father grabbed the pink runner draped across the piano, ripping it out from under the cake. As he crashed to the floor, the cake flew across the room, splattering the walls with sticky, pink icing which oozed slowly down the paint – a morbid party decoration. Covered in goo and gasping like a fish, her father’s blue eyes rolled wildly. A grimace crossed his sweaty face; he moaned, biting his cheek. Flopping horrifically, his limbs twitched, controlled by an unseen puppeteer. One final groan escaped his mouth and he stilled.
Grandfather tumbled to the floor with a howl, crouched beside his son. He laid his head gently on Gregory’s immobile chest. Slowly, Grandfather raised his gray eyes, seeking Remy, who stood frozen, a puddle of fear coating in gooey, pastel frosting.
“Murderess,” his ancient voice accused; the words permeated the furniture and floors until it became an overwhelming echo, beating in Remy’s veins. One fat finger pointed directly at Remy’s chest. “You killed him,” her grandfather’s grief-stricken voice declared.
His pitiless accusation sliced through Remy’s young heart, splitting it in two. She ran sobbing from the room. Seeking solace, Remy climbed out the bedroom window and shimmied along the eaves, ignoring the splinters attacking her fingertips. Once she reached the chimney, she crumpled onto the shingles, accidentally loosening one with her shoe. It slid down the roof, catching on the gutter. Hidden next to the brick funnel, she wept hysterically.
Twelve hours later, Cassie crawled out onto the rooftop. She squatted uncomfortably next to Remy, eventually spreading her jacket across the shingles to prevent her dress from soiling.
“You should come inside,” she murmured.
“Don’t want to,” replied Remy with a sniff.
Cassie sighed, lifting Remy’s head from the shingles and cradling it in her lap; she softly stroked Remy’s chocolate curls. Words of comfort tumbled from Cassie’s lips; a hypnotizing murmur which droned into a numb buzz. Remy’s heavy eyelids fluttered.
Remy sat up suddenly, glaring at the brown eyes which mirrored hers. “Stop it, Cassie. You know I don’t like it when you meddle with my feelings.”
Smiling placidly, Cassie closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back on the wooden shingles. When she opened them again, her brown eyes lightened to gray, the exact same shade as Grandfather’s.
“I only wanted to help,” she replied sheepishly, watching the sun dip below the horizon
Remy followed her example, leaning back on the roof and lacing her fingers behind her head. A light breeze tickled her knees, waving the still-wrinkled hem of her blue skirt.
“Did I really kill Father?” Remy nibbled nervously on the edge of her thumb, the fresh scars of Grandfather’s shattering words marred her soul. Disobedient tears leaked f
rom her eyes.
“Seriously, Remy? No, of course not. How could you?” scoffed Cassie, rolling her head to glance at her sister. Remy’s face scrunched at the callous remark; Cassie softened her tone. “I mean, of everyone here...”
“I’m the only one who isn’t talented,” Remy finished bitterly, smearing a tear across her sooty cheek.
“You’re just,” Cassie paused, her young mind processing, “undeveloped.” She smiled amiably and patted Remy’s hand. “Yes, that is the perfect word.”
“Then what did kill Father?” asked Remy, uncertainly.
“A heart attack,” replied Cassie; her gaze remained on the purpling sky. “At least that’s what I heard the doctor say.”
Remy sniffed. “Why is Grandfather so angry with me, then?”
“I don’t know, Remy. He’s heartbroken; he never should have blamed you.”
“I watched him leave,” Remy whispered. “He didn’t even look up at me.”
“Not everyone knows you come up here,” comforted Cassie.
“Father did.”
“Father knew a lot of things.”
“Cassie, is Father watching us?”
“Yes,” Cassie answered emphatically. She pointed to a winking star which shone directly on top of them, encircling them in brilliant light. “See, he is right there, always. If you listen, you can hear him calling to you.”
Remy remained quiet a moment, her teeth worrying a raw spot on her lower lip. “I don’t hear anything,” she admitted sadly, several more tears escaped.
“Well, I can hear him,” Carrie replied firmly. “He says this was not your fault. He asks you to have faith that your gifts will develop, but you must be patient, and you must listen to Mother.”
“Okay,” Remy replied softly, not believing her sister’s words, but grateful for Cassie’s compassion. She chewed her thumb again, wondering how long she would wait before her abilities surfaced, before she would be a welcome member in her coven, before her grandfather stopped blaming her for her father’s death.
FOUR TORTUROUS BIRTHDAYS passed.
On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, Remy suffered through one final, horrendous, argument with her mother. Cursing, Remy ripped drawers from her dresser, upending them over her suitcase. She shoved the tangled mess down into the valise, slamming the lid closed. Dragging it angrily through the hallway, Remy violently smashed the case against the bannister, scratching the wood. Banging the wheels loudly on each step, Remy stomped out the front door.
Lightning viciously split the sky. Remy glowered at the burgeoning dark clouds, slamming the screen door as she flung obscenities at her mother. She scowled at the next bolt of lightning, lugging the hard-sided purple suitcase through the rain. Halfway down the dirt path, the plastic case caught in the mud. Remy impatiently jerked the handle to free the wheels. She fell backward into a puddle, splashing mud over her clothes. A torrent of water crashed down, accompanied by two loud rumbles. Drenched, Remy shoved the brown mess of hair from her face and flipped her middle finger at the sky.
“I don’t care how hard you make it rain, Father, I will not stay in this house one second longer with that woman. I am never going to be Cassandra. Why doesn’t she accept that?”
A crack of thunder punctuated the statement. Remy’s mother, safely covered by the porch, watched Remy’s progress with pursed lips, her hand pressed tightly to her forehead. “Don’t change your mind now, Remy,” she seethed loudly.
Jerking her shoulders straight, Remy regally gathered her suitcase from the mud. She adjusted her sopping clothing and marched down the lane, her neck stretched high. Her mother’s shrew eyes silently followed her progress to the end of the drive; Remy felt them burning into her back, but she refused to glance back. The screen door banged; her mother vanished off the porch.
Furious and soaked, Remy stomped down the lane toward the docks. She boarded the ferry, clutching her suitcase tightly as the tiny boat pitched and rocked the short distance to the mainland. Once Remy reached solid ground, she dashed through the town, her hood pulled low over her face; a faceless teenager. Purchasing a ticket on the next outgoing Greyhound, Remy hid in the shadows to avoid notice. Minutes before the bus departed, Remy raced across the rain-soaked road.
The suitcase wheel caught in a crack. Struggling with the stubborn case, Remy lost her footing and slipped on the slick asphalt. A strong pair of arms caught her, spinning her in a dizzying circle. Breathless, Remy gazed up into a pair of liquid chocolate eyes.
“Hi,” rumbled a deep voice. “My name is Drew. You really should be more careful in this wet weather.”
Remy melted; her stomach flipped over twice. “Remy,” she murmured, unable to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
Drew easily dislodged the suitcase. Flipping it over, he inspected the wheels. His fingers brushed against a cracked wheel. “I think this might be your suitcase’s last trip.”
“I’m only going one-way,” Remy replied, choking on a sob; she recovered with a shake of her head and flashed a forced smile. “Thank you for your assistance, Drew.”
Her voice shook, faced with the threat of bursting into a blubbering mess, Remy turned quickly. She waved her hand over her shoulder – a farewell gesture – and carefully climbed the slippery stairs onto the bus, snagging a spot near the rear. Slumping down, Remy kicked her feet up on the seat in front of her and rested her head on her knees. An angry tear escaped; she swiped at it.
“Is this seat taken?”
Remy glanced up in shock. Her red eyes, still fighting the flow of tears, widened. “Um, no,” she managed with a hiccup.
“You look like you could use a friend,” Drew thumbed at himself. “I’m a good listener.”
“I’m not sure you would understand this,” Remy countered defensively.
Drew shot her an easy smile as he sat. “Try me.”
Chapter One
“WE NEED TO talk,” Remy stated tentatively, giving up the pretense of reading. She flipped over the book gently and placed it in her lap, careful not to crease the page. Nervously, she twisted a loose strand of brown hair between her fingertips.
“’Bout what?” responded Drew, distracted. He refused to tear his eyes away from the flickering soldiers on the screen. “On your left,” he yelled into the headset, a near-constant attachment to his skull.
“About us,” Remy replied, sliding an envelope between the pages and closing her book with a snap. Clutching the book, she rose and paced behind him, the curl wrapped tightly around her finger.
“What about us?” Drew asked; his eyes flicked to a second monitor stationed by his right hand. He clucked his tongue quietly and hissed. “They are sneaking up the right flank, Gus.”
“Are you happy?”
“Of course,” he answered promptly, preoccupied by a flash of movement on the screen to his left; three screens in total stretched across the entire desk. The metal abomination occupied two-thirds of the wall – prime real estate in their micro-apartment.
“Remy, you know I hate it when you hover,” he finally acknowledged her proximity. Her hesitant hand reached out to touch his shoulder. He twisted away unconsciously, eyes still tracking the enemy on the monitor. “Your left,” he yelled into the microphone again. “Stupid idiot. Your other left. Yes, shoot that guy.”
“I’m not,” Remy mumbled, dropping her hand forlornly. “We never talk to each other, we barely spend time together, we don’t even have sex; we are strangers living two separate lives. It’s been five years, don’t you want something more than this,” she gestured around the tiny apartment.
Remy waited for a response, gripping the book tightly until it shook. However, Drew, intently focused on his game, never answered. Dejected, Remy tossed the book onto the ragged couch and trudged to the bedroom, dragging her feet behind her. They scraped along the hardwood floor as she retreated through the darkness to the bedroom.
Tears fell in sheets as she stood in the center of the cold room. Th
rough her blurry vision, Remy glanced around the tiny chamber, something felt wrong. She bit down on her lower lip until she tasted the metallic flavor of blood, stopping her tears with a hiccup. Hastily wiping her face, she studied the walls closely, tilting her head.
An off-color rectangle hovered directly over the bed; their picture was missing. She spun slowly, digesting in the room. Very little of Drew’s personal belongings remained; only her clothes occupied the closet. She glanced toward a sagging bookshelf; only two visible frames amongst the myriad of books – pictures of them during the first few weeks of dating. Drew’s exodus, whether planned or not, occurred so subtly she never noticed his retreat. A strangled cry erupted from her lips.
Snatching the nearest frame, Remy flung it across the room. It smashed into the wall, scattering glass fragments across the wooden floor – a treacherous jigsaw puzzle. The photo popped out of the frame, fluttering behind the heavy oak dresser, lost to dust bunnies and the odd lemon drop. Remy heaved a sigh and dropped to her knees. Feeling under the armoire for the photo, she accidentally sliced her fingertip on a large chunk of glass.
“Swell,” Remy muttered, “the dust bunnies have weapons.” She sucked on the side of her index finger, annoyed by her carelessness. Removing her finger from her mouth, she studied the cut; blood formed rapidly along the slit. A drop fell onto the floor, mixing with the dark wood. Remy blew out a breath, rising from her crouched position.
Skulking down the hallway, she extracted a broom and dustpan from the closet – pausing to grab a bandage from the bathroom. Grumbling as she marched, her eyes automatically skimmed over the living room opening, seeking Drew.
Flickering lights danced from the living room. Drew’s attention never wavered from the screens. Remy glared at him, stomping past the opening a second time; nothing. She growled under her breath, yearning to chuck the dustpan at the back of his head.
“Invisible, just like a ghost. I wonder if he would even notice if I disappeared,” muttered Remy, slamming the bedroom door. It rattled the shared wall; an explosion echoed in the living room, booming through the partition.
