by Clara Kensie
There was a soft knock on my door frame: Deirdre, her copper hair falling over a sweatshirt painted with little upside-down handprints. In childish writing it read, Best Teacher Hands Down!
“Tessa, can I talk to you?” she asked. “Alone?”
I shot Tristan a message—what’s this about?—but he just shrugged. He gathered his notes and laptop, and kissed me before departing to his room. Mac padded after him, and Marmalade jumped onto the bed and mewed.
Deirdre sat next to me, and I tried not to stiffen when she tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. But she must have noticed, because she sighed and pulled away. “When you got back from North Dakota this morning, you asked if I was going to kick you out. Do you really think I would do that?”
“I did for a second,” I admitted.
She took my chin in her hand and made me look at her. “You will always have a home here, Tessa. Always.”
“But—”
“When you find Jillian and Logan, they will have a home here too.”
“But our parents—”
“Your parents tried to kill Dennis. They wanted to kill Tristan. They killed a lot of people, and hurt many more.”
I pulled away, hung my head, but she grabbed my chin again. “Your parents did those things,” she said. “Not you.”
Logically, I knew that. I understood that. But they were my parents. Their blood pumped through my veins with every beat of my heart. Shame and grief, hurt and despair built up inside me, growing bigger and bigger, heavier and heavier, until it burst out of me with a sob. “I’m just so…” The next word ripped itself from my throat. “…ashamed.”
“That shame is what’s causing your nightmare,” Deirdre said. “A nightmare so strong that some crazy psychic with a knife fed upon it.”
“But what can I do?” I cried. “How do I get rid of it? I can’t change who my parents are. I can’t change what they did. I can’t change the past.”
Deirdre sighed. “Oh, Tessa. Sometimes I think the person your parents hurt the most, was you.”
I lost it then. Sobs tore from my throat, one after another, and I couldn’t see past my tears. I covered my face with my hands and cried, and through my sobs, I told her everything. She already knew it, but I told her anyway. How every word from my parents’ mouths had been a lie. How my entire childhood had been a lie. How they forced my brother and sister and me to live in constant fear. How my mother had flown me into the wall. How she’d sliced me open. How the scars on my stomach were nothing compared to the scars on my soul. How, just as I was ready to accept my mother back into my life, she rejected me when I told her I was living with Tristan. And most of all, how on that last night in Twelve Lakes, my parents had instructed Jillian and Logan to run away instead of telling them the truth, costing me the only two people in the world who could possibly understand how it felt to be so betrayed by the people we had trusted the most.
Deirdre didn’t tell me to stop crying. She didn’t ask questions. She just listened.
I continued to cry, and with each sob, each tear, I felt lighter, and my blood became cooler. When I finally stopped, exhausted, she wiped my tears. “You can’t change the past,” she said, “but you can let go of it. And Tessa, you can change who your parents are.”
That was enough to make me sob one last time.
I lay down, and slowly, put my head on her plump lap. She rested her hand on my head for a moment, then ran her fingers through my hair.
My parents committed those crimes, not me. They’d hurt me just as much as they’d hurt everyone else. Maybe even more. Deirdre understood that. So did Tristan. And Dennis, and Ember.
I lost so much, but I gained something too. A new family. I started with Tristan, and then I added Dennis, Deirdre, and Ember. Once I found Jillian and Logan, my new family would be complete.
I fell asleep with my head on Deirdre’s lap as she stroked my hair. And when the Nightmare Eyes made their appearance in my dreams that night, they weren’t quite as black.
Dennis and Deirdre insisted that Tristan and I return to school the next day. We’d both missed a lot of school lately, they said, and until there was a lead in the search for Jillian and Logan, they expected us both to go to class every day. Dennis promised he’d continue our efforts to contact car dealerships in North Dakota and call us if he got a hit.
I didn’t protest—there was something I needed to do at school. Someone I needed to talk to.
I waited by Melanie’s locker before first period, but she never showed up. In the foreign language hallway before my Spanish class, I asked Ember if she knew where Melanie was. She informed me that Melanie hadn’t been to school since our trip to North Dakota. She’d also quit Lyre, Ember’s band. Poor Melanie was traumatized. I whipped out my phone and texted her my apology, six times throughout the day, but she never replied.
Nathan ignored me all day too. He would lose his job at the APR if he bothered me, so he didn’t even look at me.
Deirdre had also insisted that after school, instead of going home, I go straight to the APR and meet her in her preschool classroom. She wanted me to start sketching a mural to paint on the classroom walls. She was babysitting me, keeping me from getting into more trouble. But I didn’t mind. If I was at the APR, I could keep my eye on Kellan to see if he’d gotten any leads on Jillian and Logan.
And also, hanging out with Deirdre sounded kind of nice.
The preschoolers were gone for the day by the time I got there, so Deirdre sat at one of the short round tables with her curriculum planner, while I took a pencil to the wall near the window. I would paint a mural of a garden, I decided. An oversized flower garden. Soon the walls were covered with my pencil sketches of gigantic wildflowers, an enormous rainbow, and whimsical trees. And a pair of Nightmare Eyes, which I quickly turned into two giant sunflowers before they overpowered me.
“Hey, Deirdre?” I said as the Nightmare Eyes burned into me anyway. “Would you mind if I took a break? Maybe I’ll go upstairs and visit Brinda. I want to see if she’ll make any more drawings for me.”
“Sure, honey. When you get back, we can swing by Hawthorne’s to pick up dinner.” Humming contentedly, Deirdre resumed her project, and I left the classroom. I passed the lunchroom, where Kellan was sitting at a table near the door, peeling an apple. Good. He was here, which meant he didn’t have a lead on Jillian and Logan. I slipped away before he noticed me.
Upstairs, Brinda and her dad welcomed me to the playroom. Brinda spun around, showing off her new pink dress, which I admired with a silent clap.
She gestured to her table, inviting me to sit and have tea. I sipped my invisible beverage, then placed Jillian’s ballet slipper and Logan’s sheet music on the table, hoping Brinda could squeeze one more prediction from them.
She didn’t look at them. Instead, she stared at me. Her gaze grew unfocused as Mr. Lakhani lifted the pail of crayons. She dug through them and pulled one out.
Silver.
She covered the entire paper with silver, solid and shiny, and it reflected the lights from above.
But Deirdre’s dream of a silver-walled house already happened, I wanted to tell her. It’s over. I survived. But I couldn’t speak in here.
She pointed to the paper and then to me, tilting her head.
Oh, she was asking if her drawing had happened already. I nodded yes, then smiled to show her I was okay.
Brinda wiped her forehead with her hand, miming a relieved expression. Then she tore the silver paper in two.
I nudged the ballet slipper and sheet music closer to her. One more premonition, I pleaded silently. Just one.
She glanced at the items and shook her head, then offered me a plastic chocolate chip cookie. Trying not to be too disappointed, I took the cookie and pretended to take a bite.
Brinda sipped her tea, and her gaze landed on the ballet shoe and sheet music again. But after a millisecond, she turned away to pour more tea into her father’s cup.
Mr. Lakhani
took a pretend sip of the tea. I took another pretend bite of the cookie.
Brinda’s gaze returned to the shoe and sheet music. This time they lingered for a full two seconds before she looked away.
Come on, Brinda, I pleaded silently. One more prediction. You can do it.
She daintily dabbed her mouth with a napkin, then looked at the ballet shoe and sheet music again.
Her gaze stuck, then very slowly, her eyes glazed over.
Yes. This was it. Brinda was going to have one more premonition for me.
Mr. Lakhani raised the crayon bucket. She withdrew two crayons: one pink and one blue. With the pink, she drew a starburst at the top of the paper. With the blue, she drew a long wavy line underneath the star.
She placed the ballet shoe and sheet music on top of the drawing, and with clear eyes and a definitive nod, slid it over to me.
A year ago, Brinda drew twelve lakes, and my family went to Twelve Lakes, Illinois.
A couple weeks ago, Brinda drew a gold ring, and Jillian and Logan went to Ringgold, Colorado.
Today she drew a pink starburst and a wavy blue line.
A pink starburst. A wavy blue line.
I froze for a moment, then started shaking as hope, joy, elation zipped up my spine and into every nerve ending. I knew where I would find Jillian and Logan.
I whipped out my phone and did a quick internet search.
❀
I gave Brinda a handful of stickers and the world’s tightest hug, waved ‘bye to her dad, and left the playroom with the ballet shoe, the sheet music, and the drawing of the pink starburst and wavy blue line. Down on the main floor, instead of going back to Deirdre’s classroom, I went to the lunchroom.
Kellan was still there, using his index finger and thumb to pop a cherry tomato into his mouth. His apple was gone, but the peel was on his paper plate, coiled up like a red snake about to strike.
I skidded to a stop. Shoved Brinda’s drawing behind my back.
“Whatcha got there?” Kellan said.
“N-nothing,” I said. Brinda’s drawing, I thought.
“A drawing from Brinda?”
“No.” Yes.
Kellan unfolded himself from the plastic chair and sidled to the doorway, blocking my exit. “What did she draw?”
“Nothing.” Pink starburst. Wavy blue line, I thought. A star. A river. “Meaningless scribbles.”
He took a step toward me. “None of Brinda’s drawings are meaningless.”
A star. A river, I thought again. “This one is.” Star River.
“If it’s so meaningless, why do you have it?”
“Because—” Because Brinda drew Star River. “Because Brinda gave it to me as a present.” Star River I looked it up on my phone it’s a town in Texas Jillian and Logan are going to Star River Texas.
Then I gasped. “I—you aren’t reading my mind, are you?” I made pleading, innocent doe eyes at him. “Please, Mr. Kellan. Please don’t.” Star River. “Because this drawing—it doesn’t mean anything.”
His lip twitched through his red beard. “I am not reading your mind. I don’t have time for this anyway. I’m late for something.” He pivoted on his heel and marched out.
Star River, I shouted silently after him, as loud as I could. Star River, Texas! I pushed the words at him as he dashed triumphantly down the hallway at a speed just slower than a sprint. Star River!
He pulled his phone from his pocket as he rounded the corner. To look up information on Star River, no doubt.
Kellan was going to go to Star River, Texas.
Good. That was exactly where I wanted him to go.
Because that pink starburst wasn’t a star. It was a water lily.
That wavy blue line wasn’t a river. It was a brook.
While Kellan was hundreds of miles away in Star River to lie in wait for Jillian and Logan… Jillian and Logan would be coming to Lilybrook.
❀
Less than an hour later, Tristan and I stood at his bedroom window, looking out at the sunset. In the distance, a little plane coursed past a white cloud. Tristan raised his childhood binoculars to his eyes.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“That’s it.” He handed me the binoculars to look for myself. I adjusted them, and… yes, there it was: a white plane, marked with NWSL in navy along the side. The APR’s plane was heading south, flying John Kellan and his team to a tiny impoverished town in Texas called Star River.
“Kellan moves fast,” I said.
“When he wants to.” Tristan stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You did good, Clockwise. You used Kellan’s telepathy against him.”
I twisted around so I faced him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss the soft spot on his neck, right under his ear. “Did you write the email?”
“All I have to do is hit send.” Holding me against him with one arm, he reached over to his computer and pressed the enter key. “Done. If any of the psychics in my database get a visit from Jillian and Logan, they’ll send them to Lilybrook.”
If a teenage brother and sister come see you, the email read, tell them to go to Lilybrook, Wisconsin. Tell them they’ll be safe here, and there are people who can help them.
“I just hope it works,” I said.
“It will. It may not happen with the first psychic they visit, but it will happen.”
“They need to get here fast, before Kellan realizes I tricked him. He’ll realize something’s wrong when we don’t show up in Star River ourselves.”
“I’ll take care of Kellan.” Dennis came in, carrying a battered leather suitcase. Deirdre stood behind him, her hand flittering nervously to her throat.
“I’m going to Star River too,” Dennis continued. “I’ll tell Kellan that Deirdre refused to let you two go, so I came instead, to make sure he doesn’t harm Jillian and Logan when they get there. Heath Van der Sande is coming as my safeguard. It’s standard APR procedure, and Kellan won’t be able to get into my mind to read the truth.” He met my gaze. “We’ll stay as long as it takes, Tessa.”
“You’re okay with this, Mom?” Tristan asked. “Dad going on a case? It could be dangerous. It could be stressful on his heart.”
“It was her idea,” Dennis said.
Deirdre gave a resigned sigh. “Retirement made your father bored and miserable.” With an open palm, she placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I’d rather he be happy. Happiness is good for his heart.”
Dennis put his arm around her and kissed the top of her frizzy head. Tristan strode across his room. “Thanks, Dad.” As the Connellys hugged each other goodbye, I stayed back. Then I remembered that I was part of this family too.
I leapt across the bedroom and tried to wrap my arms around Tristan, Dennis, and Deirdre at the same time. It didn’t work, so they opened their arms for me, and hugged me too.
The plan was to act like we were waiting for word from Star River that Jillian and Logan had arrived. To act nervous. Anxious. Afraid.
I didn’t have to act.
It had been five days since Dennis and Kellan left for Star River. Tristan kept in contact with our network of psychics around the country, and Dennis kept in contact with us. His messages were short: “Nothing today,” or “No activity.” The negative messages were good: it meant Kellan hadn’t caught on to our subterfuge.
To keep up appearances, Tristan and I went to school, and Deirdre went to work. Every day after school, though, Tristan and I camped out at Hawthorne’s in a booth at the front window until the diner closed at midnight. Main Street’s wooden Welcome to Lilybrook - a Friendly Place to Live sign was visible from where we sat. If—when—Jillian and Logan came to Lilybrook, they would drive past that sign.
Through visions, I had gotten to know the previous inhabitants of this booth very well. Bernie Jessup and Mandy Klein shared a sundae here in 1973. A kindergarten soccer team in yellow uniforms celebrated a victory here in 1995. Two weeks ago, while Tristan and I were driving back to Lilybrook from Lady El
ke’s, Nathan Gallagher and Winter Milbourne had occupied this booth after leaving the APR. Nathan had just been put on probation for blocking Tristan’s premonitions. Then they’d heard what had happened in Lady Elke’s shed that day, and they were furious that we’d dragged Melanie along.
I smothered that last vision with fog and stared outside, willing Jillian and Logan to drive past the wooden sign.
So far, two psychics—one in Wyoming and one in Minnesota—had contacted Tristan. They had both been visited by Jillian and Logan, and they both had directed them to Lilybrook.
Every day, we waited. Every day, they didn’t come.
But they would come. Brinda Lakhani had predicted it. I carried her drawing of a pink lily over a blue brook with me, wherever I went, along with Jillian’s ballet shoe and Logan’s sheet music.
They will come. I repeated that to myself with every step I took, with every breath, every heartbeat. They will come.
My reflection shone in the window at Hawthorne’s that Saturday evening. Tristan and I had been here since seven that morning, eleven hours straight, trying to study, but mostly watching for Jillian and Logan. His criminal justice textbook was open on the table, but he hadn’t turned the page in over an hour. My geometry homework had turned into doodles of starbursts and wavy lines, replicas of Brinda’s drawings. His pork chops had gone cold, and I couldn’t take yet another bite of blueberry pie.
As I stared outside, Nathan Gallagher appeared in the window. Faint, ghostly. I blinked, then realized the image was just a reflection in the glass, and he was here, inside the diner, walking past our table.
He paused in his steps, looking down his narrow nose at us.
Tristan went rigid, his hands curling into fists. “Get out of here, Gallagher,” he rumbled. “You know you’ll get fired if you bother her. Looks to me like you’re bothering her.”
Nathan gave him an innocent shrug and held up a to-go bag. “Just picking up some food,” he said, and lumbered away.
With a shaky sigh, Tristan put his arm around me. “I never thought he and I would end up like this.”
