Strange Girl

by Christopher Pike

  “No,” Aja said. “The people of Selva understood that. For the most part they left me alone.”

  “Does it help that you’re physically close to a person?” Dale asked.

  “Yes,” Aja said.

  “So the Big Person does use your body as a tool?” Dale said.

  Aja hesitated. “In a way.”

  “Fascinating,” Dale muttered.

  “Maybe you should hire a private tutor and stay home,” Mike said.

  “No. This body is meant to be here at this time.” Aja turned to me. “Can you come to my house tonight? Aunt Clara’s lawyer is going to read her will and he wants you there.”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say,” Aja replied.

  That evening, I waited until my parents arrived home so I could borrow their car to drive to the Carter Mansion. Bo had been more than patient with me borrowing the Camry. I didn’t want to overdo it.

  John Grisham was the name of Clara’s lawyer. I thought it was a joke at first; he didn’t look anything like the thriller writer. The man promised us that was his real name—“us” being Bart, Aja, and myself.

  Mr. Grisham was around sixty, heavyset; his gray suit looked as if it had been bought several belt sizes ago. He had a nicely tailored beard and mustache and a twinkle in his eye. For a lawyer he seemed like an okay guy.

  It was clear Grisham knew the layout of the house, especially when he led us into one of the mansion’s four living rooms and had us take a seat. The room was heavily insulated, soundproofed—perfect for meetings about money. Opening his briefcase, he took out a thick sheaf of papers. I’d never seen such a fat will. Well, actually, I’d never seen any kind of will before.

  According to Aja, Bart had only returned that morning. She had no idea where he’d been and in typical Aja fashion had no interest in finding out. She was dressed in red sweats; her feet were bare. If she was worried about the will she gave no sign. She sat on a love seat beside me and held on to my hand.

  “I’m glad you could come,” she said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I smiled.

  “No problem. But I should tell you the truth. The only reason I’ve been dating you is because I knew you came from money.”

  “I thought it was because you loved me,” she said.

  “I tell all the girls that.”

  The remark just came out of my mouth.

  The fact was I’d never told Aja I loved her.

  John Grisham spoke. “The dispersal of Clara Smith’s wealth is fairly simple. I hope there will be no surprises. But the will itself—and the living trust it’s connected to—is a complex legal document that was prepared in my law offices last summer. It’s designed to have you, Bart Lewis, and you, Aja Smith, pay the least amount of taxes possible. Later I can explain in detail what this means but for now I’ll just go over how the inheritance is to be divided.”

  Mr. Grisham cleared his throat before continuing. “As you may or may not know, Clara had much of her wealth in major stocks and various real estate holdings spread all over the world. This last summer she converted these investments into cash—with the exception of this property. At present, the sum total of her estate is worth two hundred and sixty-two million dollars.”

  Bart gasped. “I had no idea.”

  Mr. Grisham turned to Aja. “Are you surprised?”

  “No,” she said.

  Mr. Grisham raised an eyebrow at her lack of reaction and continued. “It was Clara’s wish that this sum be shared equally between the two of you. You will, therefore, each receive one hundred and thirty-one million dollars and change—minus whatever taxes you’re required to pay.” He paused. “I hope this meets with both your expectations and that there will be no contesting of the will?”

  “It’s fine with me,” Bart said. “Aja?”

  “It’s good,” she said.

  “Great,” Mr. Grisham said. “Now, let me explain why Fred Allen was invited to the reading of Clara’s will. First off, Clara asked that he be here. Second, she prepared a document for him to read.” The lawyer removed a standard legal-sized envelope from his briefcase and handed it to me. “She wrote this in her final days.”

  “I knew she’d written something for Fred,” Bart said. “I was looking all over for it.”

  “She mailed it to me the day before she died,” Mr. Grisham said. “I didn’t know you were aware of it. I apologize if there was any confusion.”

  Bart shrugged. “All that matters is Fred’s got it now.”

  Mr. Grisham spoke. “There’s one other item Clara prepared for you, Fred. Her late husband, Eric Smith, was a childhood friend of Richard Gratter, the founder of Paradise Records. I assume you’re familiar with that company?”

  “Sure,” I said. “They’re one of the biggest in the music business.”

  “They are indeed. Before passing, Clara arranged an audition for you with Mr. Gratter. Specifically, Paradise Records will fly you out to Los Angeles anytime in the next month, where you will be given an opportunity to audition your music to the firm’s top executives, including Mr. Gratter himself.” Grisham paused. “I hope this meets with your approval.”

  I could barely speak. “Gratter wants to hear my songs?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Grisham said.

  “How does he know I’m any good?”

  “Clara told him you were extremely talented.”

  “How did Clara know how talented I am?”

  “I played her the demo you gave me,” Aja said.

  “I told you not to show that to anyone.”

  “I didn’t show it to her. I let her listen to it.”

  “Aja! Did she send it to Gratter?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Aja said. “Probably.”

  I shook my head. “Oh God.”

  “The offer is good for a month from today,” Mr. Grisham warned. “After that, Mr. Gratter might presume you have no interest in his firm.”

  “But I’m in a band,” I said. “Can’t they come to the audition?”

  “No,” the lawyer said. “Paradise made it clear they are only interested in you.”

  “What am I supposed to tell my friends?”

  Mr. Grisham stood. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Now I must be off. But I need to tell you, Bart and Aja, it’s best I prepare your own wills as soon as possible. You’re both extremely wealthy now. You need to be prepared for any eventuality.”

  “We’ll get back to you on that,” Bart said, showing the lawyer to the door. Aja and I had stood as the man left but suddenly I felt my legs turn to rubber and collapsed back onto the love seat. Aja sat beside me.

  “Don’t be scared,” she said. “I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun. They’ll love you.”

  “Is that the Big Person talking?”

  Aja smiled. “I’m not telling.”

  Bart returned to the living room. He continued to marvel over how much money Clara had made in her life, and how she’d kept most of it secret from him. “I knew she was well-off but two hundred and sixty-two million—it makes me dizzy thinking about it,” he said. “It’s an almost obscene amount of money.”

  “You can always give it away to the poor,” Aja said, a serious note in her voice. Her tone did not escape Bart. He nodded.

  “There’s a town in Jamaica near where I was born that’s desperate for help,” he said. “It might be fun to go back there and play Santa Claus for a few hundred families.” Bart stood back up. “It’s something to think about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m still tired from my travels. I’m going to bed.”

  “Good night,” Aja said.

  “Night, you two. Try not to be too loud.”

  When Bart left the room I asked her what he meant with that last remark. Again Aja smiled. “I’ve never met such a naive Little Person.”

  She was talking about sex, of course; the two of us making love in a bedroom only two rooms away from where Bart ordinarily slept. It was odd but in all the time I’d known
Aja I’d never seen her bedroom. I assumed it would be rather austere—given the fact she wasn’t attached to anything.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  From Selva, Aja had brought with her a large assortment of throw rugs and exotic handcrafts. Plus there were paintings and sculptures, the latter made from a deeply tanned wood. Almost all were of a woman’s face; a female that bore a striking resemblance to Aja. I pointed out the similarity and Aja nodded.

  “My father painted them, carved them,” she said.

  “That’s your mother, right?”

  “Yes.”

  I hesitated. “You never speak of your parents.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I understand. But if you ever want to . . .”

  “There’s no need,” she repeated.

  Her voice sounded as calm and cool as ever. I told myself there was no need to worry.

  At some point we got into bed. Like the first time, everything seemed to happen in slow motion and very fast at the same time. I suppose my adolescent brain was unable to see Aja naked without shorting out. It was incredible to hold her in my arms again.

  And it was magical to feel my thoughts and emotions slip into another dimension as our bodies entwined. Being close to Aja created an invisible bubble that somehow had the power to make me forget myself. Not that I forgot my name—Fred had never been happier—but the constant activity of my mind quieted as I sank deeper and deeper into her. She had only to put her hand on my heart and I was at peace.

  Later, as Aja slept beside me, I turned on a lamp by her bed and opened Clara’s envelope. It was typed; she had obviously created it on her tablet with her one good hand.

  Fred,

  When you get this letter I expect I will no longer be of this world. Aja has already told me that my breaths are to run out in the next few days. Did you know we’re all born with so many breaths? That’s just one of the many remarkable things Aja has taught me. I know as you spend more time with her even more miraculous pieces of knowledge will come to you—mostly from inside and in a form that will be impossible to explain to others. That’s why this letter might sound like nothing more than the crazed ramblings of an old woman. Very little of what Aja has taught me can be put into words.

  Why am I writing this letter, you must wonder? Already I’ve heard that Aja’s healing ability has begun to be felt in Elder. That’s inevitable. The universal soul—what she calls the “Big Person”—is lively wherever she goes. In Selva, when I first witnessed it in action, I sought to control it by controlling her, although at the time I told myself I was trying to protect Aja from people who were trying to take advantage of her. I can see already you care for her; I suspect you’ll try to do the same. You’ll try to isolate her. And you’ll try to keep others from knowing what you know about her.

  My advice is simple. Don’t do it.

  There’s an arrogance built into us “Little People.” We think we know what is best, especially when it comes to those we love. How truer is that when we chance upon a person such as Aja—a beautiful young woman with powers that make her appear to be an angel incarnate. It’s as if we can accept Aja’s power but not her intelligence. Again, I tell you that’s a mistake.

  The same consciousness that allows her to heal also directs her to where she should be and what she should do. It was the Big Person that told us to move to Elder. It was the Big Person who brought you into her life. You’ll have trouble believing that; any sane person would. You’ll recall seeing Aja for the first time, and thinking how cute she was, before deciding—for yourself—that you wanted to get to know her better. You’re probably certain your relationship was driven by a normal high school crush, and I’m here to tell you that you’re absolutely wrong.

  How can I be so sure?

  Aja told me about you before you even spoke to her.

  She said she saw you while she was in the town park. She saw you walking home from school. I doubt you noticed her; she wasn’t even going to Elder High then. But when she saw you she knew she’d seen her reason for moving us all to Elder.

  What is that reason? Why are you so important?

  I don’t know.

  I just know that I like you and that I trust you.

  Let me tell you something else you don’t know.

  Aja possesses the ability to heal wounds that are mostly hidden, that are not physical. I’ve seen demonstrations of this far more often than I’ve seen her heal a sick child. Probably because we all carry these type of wounds. You and I are no exceptions. No matter how many hints I’ve picked up from Aja as to how the Big Person operates through her, I’ve never gotten a clear idea of why it chooses to heal one person over another.

  Yet I’ve glimpsed a definite pattern when Aja has healed me, or Bart, or healed other close friends of psychological scars. The healing inevitably results in a clearer vision of what the Big Person is. In other words, it’s as if this vast consciousness is trying to make itself known in the lives of the people who come in contact with Aja. I tell you this now, Fred, although I’m pretty certain you’ll eventually come to the same conclusion. A pity I won’t be here to hear if that’s true.

  I can only pray you have as many years with Aja as I did. Frankly, despite what I said at the top to trust what Aja is doing, America scares me. Selva was much simpler. The people were unsophisticated—by our standards—but they were kind. I was loath to take Aja out of such a natural sanctuary, especially when I knew my days were short. But I knew I had to trust her. And now that I’ve met you, I feel that trust has been rewarded.

  Take care, Fred. Take care of Aja.

  All my love, Clara.

  I held the letter to my chest and looked at Aja’s sleeping face, only inches from my own. How innocent she looked right then; how sweet and uncomplicated. And yet behind her softly sighing breath and the flutter of her long eyelashes, I sensed something vast. A being so huge that my paltry concepts of time and space could not contain it.

  What was that something?

  Was that the real Aja?

  Clara’s letter suddenly felt heavy in my hand.

  I set it aside and turned off the light.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IT WAS TIME to listen, time to stop trying to fix everything. It went against my nature but maybe my nature had been shaped by the type of psychological scars Clara said Aja could dissolve. Looking back at my childhood, how desperate I’d been to keep my parents together, and then at my teenage years, how I’d struggled at every step to help my friends even when they hadn’t asked for my help, I had to wonder if I was carrying more baggage than I knew.

  No wonder Aja had called me a martyr.

  I told Janet, Mike, and Dale that our new policy with Aja was “hands off.” We wouldn’t stand around her at break and lunch like security guards. Whoever wanted to talk to her could talk to her. And I told them Aja would go along with our new approach, even though I hadn’t spoken to her about it. She wouldn’t complain because she never complained, about anything.

  Also, I shared Clara’s letter with them.

  They read it Tuesday morning as we huddled together in the school parking lot. Hopefully, the letter helped explain our new hands-off policy. Mike and Dale seemed to take Clara’s advice to heart but Janet had her doubts.

  “Elder isn’t Selva,” Janet said. “And this idea of trusting in the Big Person sounds like nothing but wishful thinking. Let’s not fool ourselves. We drop our wall and Aja’s going to get swarmed. Every kid in school is going to hassle her to fix some sick relative.”

  “She’ll learn how to handle them,” I said, not really believing what I was saying.

  Janet snorted. “Wait until she tries to heal someone who makes her sick. You’ll drop your ‘Trust in the Big Person’ attitude faster than any of us.”

  I smiled. “So you do think that she can heal people?”

  “That’s not what I said,” Janet said.

  “Aja won’t get sick if she doe
sn’t get emotionally involved,” Dale said.

  “Forget about her healing for a second,” Janet said. “Can Aja control her emotions twenty-four/seven? Because if she can’t—and she couldn’t with Mike—then how is a shy girl who basically grew up in a jungle going to handle throngs of people pestering her all day? It would drive anyone nuts.”

  “She can handle it,” Mike said, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

  Janet shook Clara’s letter in front of us. “And what’s all this crap about her healing psychological wounds? It’s bad enough people think she can heal sick people. Add this new power to the mix and half the guys and girls in this school won’t be bugging her to cure their aunts and uncles. They’ll be begging Aja to fix their own screwed-up lives.”

  “We probably shouldn’t advertise the ‘psyche repair’ thing,” Dale suggested.

  “I agree,” I said.

  Janet studied me. “Has she ever done a psychic probe on you?”

  I acted nonchalant. “She’s said a few insightful things. Nothing that’s rewired my brain. I mean, I’m not walking around thinking my demo is going to get me a million-dollar advance from EMI or Sony Records.”

  Shit, I thought. Talk about a Freudian slip.

  I hadn’t shared with the others Clara’s offer to fly me out to LA to audition for Paradise Record’s top executives. They’d never shown any sign of jealousy over the fact that most of Half Life’s fan base raved about how great I was, without mentioning them.

  Still, a part of me worried that Clara’s offer might push buttons, particularly when it came to Shelly. She knew she was lacking in the creative department. She knew she couldn’t sing or write songs. But her father was a musician; we practiced at her house. And to top it all off, she was jealous of Aja. Considering all these points, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Shelly insisted on going to LA with me.

  Janet was suspicious of my answer, as she had a right to be. I was, after all, lying. “Are you saying Aja hasn’t helped you resolve at least one traumatic event in your life?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “You know me. I’ve led a pretty boring life.”