by Anna Elias
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” an operator asked from Tricia’s phone.
Oh, God. Link stumbled back, hitting the car’s rusty bumper.
“Help me,” Tricia screamed into the phone. “That boy who escaped, the one who killed my son, he’s at my house.” Her shaking fingers found the car’s panic button and blared the meager horn. “Help,” she shrieked. “Murderer. Somebody, help.”
Link’s nerves coiled. Tears sprung to his eyes. “I didn’t do it,” he pleaded.
“Your gun fired those bullets. He died in your arms. You were covered in his blood. Help!”
“It was my blood, too. They shot me while I was trying to save him.”
Neighborhood doors creaked open. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Link stumbled, adrenaline gushing. “I did not kill Trevor,” he repeated, praying the words would sink in. “I was trying to save him.”
The tiniest cloud of uncertainty darkened Tricia’s face as he turned to run. His words might have gotten through, at least a little. A flicker of hope sparked as Link raced into the woods behind her home. He jumped over a log and cut between dense trees. Perhaps that glimmer would ignite a bigger flame and allow Tricia to hear him. Really hear him. And believe.
Sirens grew louder, and two helicopters searched overhead. The police were sending an army’s worth of units. They would show no mercy if they found him.
But what if he was wrong about Tricia and her doubt had already gone? Link slowed. This manhunt would grow into a blitzkrieg, and the shelter wouldn’t stand a chance. Sam and Doc would go to prison for harboring him, the shelter would close, and the Program would die before it started. God knows how long another one would take to create.
Link slowed to a jog and looked around, mentally rerouting an escape to Oregon, then Washington, and across the Canadian border. He started to jog north when he tripped, rolled over rocks, and landed with a thud by a pair of feet.
“Not your wisest move,” Liam scolded, his golden eyes burnished with compassion.
“But ... how did you ...?”
Liam helped Link to his feet. “The Program will be safe for you, Javier. Until Tricia Martin is ready.”
Link paled at the sound of his real name. The claustrophobia of his tiny prison cell began to close in. “You knew? This whole time?”
Liam put a hand on his shoulder. The touch was warm and comforting, like a campfire on a cold night. “We need your decision.”
“What about Sam? The others? Do they know?”
“We need your decision.”
“But no one’s safe with me around.”
The man extended a hand. His kind eyes never blinked.
Why would they do this, and how could Link accept? On the other hand, how could he refuse? Running would only work for so long. Maybe he was the Vessel they needed. Maybe this was the safest place after all, until he could confront Tricia again with proof.
Wait. He cocked his head at Liam.
“Tonight. Alejo and Trevor. Getting to see Tricia. Was that ... did you ...?”
The green rings sparkled in Liam’s eyes. “It’s time.”
Link took a breath. Everything about this felt right, even if he couldn’t understand it. He exhaled and took Liam’s hand. An emerald light glowed around them and gusting wind whipped at small branches until the men vaporized together into thin air.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AVANI
A canvas, stirrup-like swing twisted on long chains that anchored its sides to the tall frame above. Two more swings shifted in the breeze beside it, metal chains clapping as they dangled over concave, mulchy ruts kicked up by small feet. For Avani, this empty Keystone Elementary School playground sprang to life with memories: talking to friends, playing dodgeball, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, and swinging to the moon on these long chains.
The sounds echoed into silence, and Avani checked the time on her father’s watch. Lani had given her this beloved timepiece after his funeral, even though the wide leather band and large round face swallowed her tiny wrist. Lani had sized it for Avani’s next birthday, adding enough holes in the leather to make it fit. Avani had worn it ever since.
Her parents. This place. Her past. If she became a Vessel, there would be no need to return. If she refused ...
Her mind flashed to the clinic doorway yesterday, the strange portal it had become when Tal had tried to leave. There was an endless black forest, scary and full of dead trees. A cold wind howled through, and the woods were void of any animals, birds, or insects. Not a single sound of life. Icy fingers gripped her again and she shook it off, focusing instead on the metal clanking of the swings, and smells of discarded cafeteria food in the nearby dumpster. She wanted to embrace this younger and more innocent chapter of her life one last time, make peace with these ghosts before serving new ones in Reno.
Well, spirits, not ghosts. Sam had made that clear. Though she couldn’t imagine the difference at the moment.
Sweat trickled down Avani’s neck from the heat. Her thick black hair frizzed in the Texas humidity, and her scalp prickled as she remembered the pull of Lani’s brush.
Peals of laughter cut the air and Avani once more saw her five-year-old self on the swings, carefree and lost in play. The young girl jumped off and ran toward the nearest hallway. Avani followed, so focused on the disappearing child that she didn’t see the tall security fence until she bumped into the black iron bars. Sadness struck at this new reflection of life in an era of easy gun access and mass school shootings. Avani wondered if its height and endless length scared the children or made them feel safe. Laughter echoed across her mind, and Avani followed the fence, tracking her own childish mirth.
Her search ended at the school courtyard, which was visible through the iron bars on the far side of the building. The laughter faded into young voices giggling under an imaginary teacher’s instruction. Avani beamed at seeing Mrs. Castro, her second grade teacher, and one of her favorites. She always had a ready joke, a bubbling laugh, and endless ways to make learning fun.
Mrs. Castro instructed the mirage of children to plant seeds in small disposable cups decorated with markers, glitter, and beads. She cast a concerned eye to young Avani, now seven, as she planted seeds by herself, sad and distant from her classmates. Her cup was decorated in black and void of any sparkle or shine. It was the year after her father had died. Avani hadn’t realized how dark a shadow her sorrow had cast.
Young Avani grew frustrated, threw her cup on the grass, and ran away. Mrs. Castro placed her teaching intern in charge then followed the girl.
Avani shadowed them, turning a corner to find her younger self sobbing in Mrs. Castro’s arms. The teacher cradled young Avani until the crying stopped then walked her toward the office. Avani trailed them around a bend in the fence to the school’s front entry, and watched them disappear like a vision inside the office door.
Avani turned to the parking lot outside the main entrance. The school day had ended an hour ago; only a handful of cars dotted the asphalt spaces. Two small bikes remained in the rack, and images of Lani’s sedan in the snake-like car line sprang to mind.
Avani spied her younger self once more, slightly older and huddled with the few remaining fourth graders out front. The children sat grade-by-grade for pickup, kindergarten through fifth. They lined the curb and were surrounded by teachers and staff who directed cars, called out names, and helped students into waiting vehicles. Avani sat by her then-best friend, Susie, a blonde, blue-eyed girl who had stuck by her no matter what. When Lani arrived, young Avani stood, hugged Susie, and got into the car.
Even now, through space and time, Avani could feel Susie’s arms around her, the excitement to see her mom, and the heartache of going home to a life without her dad.
Metal clanged and jolted Avani back to the moment. A teacher exited the tall fence through a steel, push-bar door. Avani ducked behind a wide post, but her heart leaped to see Mrs. Castro. Her favorite teacher
still worked here, still inspired young minds and still, no doubt, played as many practical jokes as possible. The door banged shut, locking as the teacher walked to her car. Avani started after her, wanting to hug Mrs. Castro and thank her for leaving such a happy mark on her otherwise dark world.
But Avani stopped, and she hid farther behind the column. As much as she wanted to see Mrs. Castro, Avani did not want to answer innocent and unknowing questions about why she happened to be at school, or how Lani was doing.
Mrs. Castro started her car and drove away, and their shared past vanished like exhaust. Avani had taken her youngest and most innocent and carefree days here for granted, as most children did. If only she’d known then how soon both of her parents would be gone, the importance of savoring every second with them, of not being embarrassed to hug and kiss them in front of friends.
“Youth is wasted on the young,” her mother used to joke. Avani understood that now.
She pulled the band from her ponytail, wrestled her thick black locks back into place, and secured them again.
On the other hand, kids were better at living in the moment, at worrying less about what tomorrow held. They embraced the present as a gift.
As Avani left the parking lot, a spring breeze gusted past, carrying familiar smells of curry and cardamom, and the doughy aroma of fresh-baked naan bread. Her mouth watered. She’d heard her aunt and uncle had moved away but no one else used that many cloves.
Avani turned around, crossed at the stop sign, and continued four blocks east to a neighborhood lined with modest, single-story homes. Her aunt and uncle lived one mile from school. She’d spent a lot of time at their house after her dad had died. Her mom would sometimes drop her off there when she had to run errands, or Avani’s aunt would pick her up from school when Lani had to work late.
The sun beat harder as Avani walked past Hawthorn Street and Ivy Way to the dead end at Hyacinth Lane. She turned left at a familiar blue house and paused to sniff again, but the aroma was gone.
Strange.
The breeze blew past again, this time carrying the sweet scent of flower blossoms. Perhaps her aunt and uncle had become too old to cook for themselves. Perhaps she had simply imagined the smells, or maybe another Indian family in the neighborhood had used that many cloves. Avani straightened her shoulders and checked her hair. She had come this far. She continued halfway up the block to the familiar cream-colored ranch style home.
The home itself was still neat and tidy, but the yard now blossomed with a wide variety of fragrant plants, including wisteria vines and black cherry trees. The whole place seemed smaller, too. The simple front door was not the massive wooden portal of her youth, and the oak tree she’d once loved to climb did not actually touch the sky. Avani had last stood here nine years ago to say goodbye before Lani moved them away. Nine years equaled half of Avani’s life, and she’d lived lifetimes since. Her aunt and uncle might not even recognize her. And none of them may know what to say.
Avani shook it off, approached the wooden door and rang the bell. This aunt was her father’s oldest sister, and her last living relative. If either or both of them were still alive, and did still live here, this chance would be Avani’s last to say goodbye.
She blew out a quick breath and pressed the bell again. Footsteps approached, and the door opened to a petite, gray-haired woman with bright blue eyes, thin white skin, and a luminous smile. A straw hat hung from a cord around her neck, its wide floppy brim creating a halo behind her head. Garden dirt smeared her face.
“Hello, honey.” Her words revealed a Southern drawl. “May I help you?”
Avani almost forgot how to speak. “I, I, um, I’m looking for my aunt and uncle. They are, um, Poojah and Ajeet Patetharini.”
“Oh, they haven’t lived here in years, sweetie.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Well, I bought this house five years ago from the man who bought it from them. He said they moved back to India. That must have been about 2009.”
Avani startled, surprised to learn they’d left the same year she and Lani had moved to California—four years after her father’s death. Suffering his loss, and the hate that killed him, may have caused them to leave, as well. Or, perhaps they wanted to spend their final years back home with family. Either way, these last living relatives were gone from Avani’s life, and most likely gone from this world
Her shoulders drooped.
The woman’s eyes danced, tiny flecks of green flashing inside the blue.
Avani’s breath caught. She teetered slightly.
“You all right, honey? Want something to drink? I make a blue-ribbon-winning iced tea.”
“Um, thank you, but—I better go.”
“All right, then. Have a beautiful day.”
Avani took a few steps and stopped. She turned around. “Do you have family here?” The question popped out. Something about this woman made her ask.
“I did, honey, long ago. But I’m all that’s left now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” the woman replied with a grin. “Me, my dog, and my plants, we get by just fine.” She pinched a few dead leaves by the door, and the movement lifted her pants leg above her low-cut, yard-stained canvas shoes.
A vine-like tattoo shimmered unusual shades of blue, green, and purple around the woman’s left ankle. Some kind of circular mark or symbol made of vines anchored its center on the inside of her leg. Avani gaped at the detail, but did not want to stare long enough to figure out what was inside the mark. She cleared her throat. “My, um, my aunt and uncle loved this house. I hope you’re happy here, too.”
The woman beamed. “A family is what you make of it, honey. Any place can be home. Wherever you are, whoever you’re with, and wherever it leads, that’s the journey.” Flecks of green flashed again. “You’ll never be alone.”
Avani shuddered at those words. Her soul flared as if cracked opened, rewired, and stitched back together with a new purpose. Avani blinked. The woman’s eyes returned to normal.
“You take care now.” She pinched a last leaf and disappeared inside.
“Thanks,” Avani mumbled. The muscles in her shoulders and arms relaxed. She felt happy, not orphaned and alone in the world after all. Maybe her journey was meant to include more than one family—or different kinds of families, or families these spirits needed her help to serve. She felt lighter. Avani had wanted to be a Vessel from the moment Sam had asked. Something about this woman made her want it even more.
Just one stop remained.
Thunder grumbled behind thick clouds at the gas and grocery on Highway Three. The store sat halfway between Houston and the Johnson Space Center where Avani’s father had worked, and it marked his favorite place to stop for gas, coffee, and the occasional candy bar for Avani. A gentle rain misted across the store’s bright fluorescent lights, and in the glow of neon from beer signs that flashed in the windows. Avani took several deep breaths, working up the nerve to go inside.
An Indian man hurried by, wearing dress pants and a button-down blue shirt. A NASA badge jostled around his neck as he disappeared inside.
Avani’s jaw dropped. “Papa?”
She forgot about everything else and hurried after him. The shelves and aisles hadn’t changed, and—though clean—the same scuffed white tiles covered the floor. The only addition was a bulletproof wall encasing the cashier. Avani soured at the irony since the customer had been the one to die that day.
She walked past the young clerk sitting inside his see-through cage and followed the Indian man to the far back wall lined with drinks. But when she arrived, he was gone. A balding, middle-aged white man stood in his place, scanning a cooler of juices, waters, and flavored teas.
A woman screamed by the front door and Avani spun around. Balding Man didn’t seem to hear, but Avani saw a crowd gather at the register. Her face numbed and the air turned to cement in her lungs. She edged forward, knowing what waited. Sure enough, the cro
wd stood in shock around the handsome Indian man who now lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his ID floating in the crimson bath. He bled from a dozen or more stab wounds to his face, neck, and chest. Avani tried to scream, to yell, to cry out, but words shriveled in her throat. She was once more that terrified child of five and a half, peering around her screaming mother’s skirts at her father’s body, at his wide, pained eyes, and the red foam bubbles gurgling at his mouth.
She witnessed again the moment his eyes closed and his soul took flight. A glowing pearl rose from his mouth and hovered, pulsing with a light and peace. Avani smiled as it rose and disappeared into the air. She felt his spirit fly around them like an invisible orb of love, free from the fear and hate that had just killed him. It swept by twice and was gone.
“Did you ever tell Lani?”
Avani spun to find Balding Man browsing the candy and nuts next to her. The air smelled of evergreen trees and earthy black soil. Her heart raced.
“Excuse me?”
“Your mother, Lani. Did you ever tell her what you saw that day?”
“Who are you?”
The clerk made a noise and Avani spun to look, her senses still on edge. He picked up the phone he’d dropped and dusted it off.
“What did she say?”
Avani turned back to find Liam now standing beside her.
“Wait. How did you—?”
“What did Lani say when you told her?”
Avani cleared her throat and toyed with a bag of pretzels. “She, um, she said I witnessed a rare and magical moment—when the Creator opens Heaven to welcome an Earth Child back home.”
“That’s a beautiful description.”
Anger bubbled again and shoved fear aside. “Two white boys butchered my father on the fourth anniversary of 9/11. They told police they were patriots who loved America and didn’t want people like my dad ruining it.” Avani squeezed the bag. “When they learned he was from India and not the Middle East, that he was Hindu and not Muslim, that he had nothing whatsoever to do with 9/11 or Bin Laden or anything else, you know what they said?”
