Elite: The Satellite Trilogy Part II

by Lee Davidson

  Heat crawls into my scars, nothing like before, but unsettling nonetheless.

  Trina watches me rub my knee. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Did you have a husband, or boyfriend, or anything?”

  “No. Not that I remember, at least.”

  I exhale, not realizing I was holding my breath.

  “You sure you’re all right?” She grabs my hand, and her touch makes my heart race. With each beat, my scars get hotter.

  I ignore the pain, furious that it’s interfering with a perfectly good moment, and I don’t pull my hand away until my calimeter buzzes. Trina pushes the face of hers as I’m quieting mine.

  “I’ll see you in training?”

  I dig the tarnished heart out of my jean pocket and nod. “See you then.”

  I fight not to flinch from her hug, but the burn intensifies.

  She lets me go and begins walking down the hall.

  “Aren’t you displacing?” I call after her.

  She turns to face me, walking backwards. “Not today. I have to meet Jonathan.”

  “Trading assignments?”

  She nods.

  My scars hurt even more when she flashes her beautiful smile. “Displace,” I mutter through clenched teeth and fall through the floor. The whooshing air covers my groan as I drop to Earth.

  “I missed you at break,” Elliott says before my feet even hit the dated carpet.

  I didn’t miss him, but instead of saying so, I grunt.

  “Liam had an idea. This one’s really good.”

  “I have to get my reading done. You should probably do the same.”

  Elliott pokes his head into the kitchen, sighs, and pulls out his book. Three minutes later, his book thuds closed and he’s off. “Liam thought I should share stories of when you and Tate were together since I’m not getting anywhere with the general stuff. I wasn’t there for most of these experiences, but, lucky for you, Tate shared a lot of them with me after you died.”

  Right, lucky for me.

  “Oh, boy,” Lawson mumbles with a hint of sympathy is his voice.

  Elliott disregards this. “She kept me up every night telling me stories the whole week after you died. Talking about you was therapy for her, even though she and I were the only ones who saw it that way. My parents kept pushing her to see a real shrink.”

  My scars prickle with residual heat from being with Trina. To ignore Elliott and his increasingly grating voice, I focus on Meggie who’s working hard to fill out thank you cards at the table.

  “Tate told me about a time you guys got locked in Busch Wildlife.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, strictly out of curiosity.

  “A public conservation area with a bunch of lakes. She told me you two had been fishing.” He makes mock quotations in the air and then flinches. “I don’t care to know what you were really doing, so if you do remember, you can keep that to yourself.”

  I can’t help but laugh along with Lawson. The guy is talking about his sister, after all. If I actually believed any of this garbage, I’d throw in a comment about how hot she is just to see him squirm.

  “So you guys were done fishing…or whatever,” he’s squirming now without my help, “and you were heading back to our house. Tate still had a twelve thirty curfew even though my parents liked you. Nothing good happens after midnight is what my dad would say. She despised the curfew, but it never bothered you. You actually agreed with our dad, which infuriated Tate, and put you one notch higher on my parents’ list. Neither you nor Tate realized that the gates of Busch Wildlife locked at ten.”

  Elliott pauses to block when Ryan focuses too long on the refrigerator photo of the twins. It takes a minute for Elliott to collect himself before he picks back up with story-time. “The bordering trees were too thick so there was no way around the gates. Tate said you kept your cool, but she could tell you were wigging out about getting her home in time.”

  “What happened?” Asking the question proves I’m paying attention and I immediately regret opening my big mouth.

  “You drove every gravel road in the place until you finally found a narrow service road out. Tate was only fifteen minutes late. My parents didn’t even notice. By that point, they liked you so much, you probably could have had a slumber party out there and they wouldn’t have cared.”

  Elliott allows a welcomed silence for an entire minute.

  “Anything?”

  The guy just isn’t getting it. When I don’t answer, he moves on.

  “When my Grandma died, my sister was a mess.”

  I rub at the heat in my knee.

  “Tate broke as soon as she walked in the viewing room at the visitation. You held her together.”

  The temperature is rising.

  “She said she wouldn’t have survived that without you.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I jump through the front door to the three-by-three concrete slab that’s barely a porch. Hunched over and trying to catch my breath, I lift my head and blink back stinging tears. I blink again when I see a girl sitting on the hood of Ryan’s SUV.

  The girl shades her eyes, focused on the dilapidated house across the street. “Look at them.”

  Chills run down my body, cooling my scars, when my head makes the connection. It’s the voice.

  The house that has her attention is just like every other on the vacant block. I walk towards her. “Who are you?”

  She acts like she doesn’t hear me.

  “Hey!” I yell and grab for her. “Who are you?”

  Before my hand reaches her elbow, she melts into the hood of the car like wax, until she disappears completely. Trying to make sense of what has happened, I force air into my lungs to keep calm. What’s really worrying me about her disappearance is that I’ve never felt so empty and dead.

  “What did she look like?”

  “Huh?”

  “Tate,” I say out of breath to Elliott. “What did she look like?”

  His eyes widen, probably because I’m coming unhinged. “She was beautiful.”

  “Features!” I bark. “Give me features!”

  “Oh.”

  Come on already!

  “She has reddish-brown, curly hair. She’s a little shorter than you, not stick-thin, well, until after…”

  I stop listening.

  My fingers twist into my hair when I slide down the wall and try to catch my breath. Elliott’s voice morphs into a strange, slow-motion echo.

  She’s real.

  13. I was looking forward to a good fight

  It about kills Elliott to leave before getting an explanation for my outburst, but he has no choice. Ryan is already halfway down the block and I have yet to find my voice and explain my temporary insanity. These days, the insanity is feeling more permanent. My scars throb like the after effects of a bad burn and Meggie’s slow day couldn’t have come at a better time. She’s asleep by seven, largely due to the sleeping pill and anti-depressant cocktail. However she finds peace is fine with me.

  The sound of the T.V. spills in from the living room, but I zone in on the even rise and fall of Meggie’s covers and try to find an explanation for today’s events. Ticking through what I know—or, at least, think I know—I come up with a list of facts: Tate’s real, even though I don’t remember a thing about her; I’ve seen her, or some screwed up hologram version of her; she’s the voice from coding who is ripping me apart, and she’s somehow linked to my scars.

  In a game of holes verses pieces, the holes are schooling their competition.

  Needing a distraction now more than ever, I dig through my bag until my hand finds what it’s searching for. When Meggie lets out a muffled snore, I’m more at ease with my decision.

  “Displace,” I whisper into the darkened room. Instead of falling or being yanked upward, I’m pulled horizontally at a speed that morphs the trees, mountains, and homes that I travel through into blurred
streaks.

  My muscles relax in the familiar home. The only change to the living room is an addition to the wall of memories. Ryder and Hannah are over-the-top happy in a black and white photograph, blending well with photos of Willow, Troy, Mya, Mya’s husband, Lucas, and her son, Lennon.

  In the flesh, this couple is even more radiant, parked on a plaid blanket in the middle of the room amidst mismatched furniture. Their makeshift picnic includes a six pack of beer, a bag of cheese curls and a Monopoly board. Hannah’s stack of money is three times thicker than her fiancé’s.

  Ryder straightens his right leg and massages his thigh like anyone might do after sitting for too long. In his case, though, the cause for the muscle stiffness is my fault. Why can’t I remember the events leading up to his—

  “I passed go again. That’s another two hundred dollars for me! Sorry, honey,” Hannah jabs.

  “Good, you can use that towards the ridiculous ice sculpture you want for the wedding.”

  “It’s a champagne fountain, and it’s going to be beautiful.” Hannah leans over the board game and plants a kiss on Ryder. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?” she says against his smiling lips.

  “Whatever you want.”

  Their spring wedding plans are documented in Ryder’s book, and from what I read, the day is going to to be perfect. There’s no question that Ryder will give her all she could ever want and more.

  I play the part of Monopoly spectator for the next fifteen minutes while Hannah shares more of her decorating ideas for the big day. I would have thought a conversation like this would bore me out of my mind, but with everything going on between my scars and Meggie, I need an escape.

  Ryder and Hannah engage in what’s quickly escalating to a make-out session that’s inappropriate for me to watch. When Hannah pushes aside the Monopoly board and the game pieces, property cards, and money go with it, I take that as my cue to leave. Being subjected to these marathons when Ryder was my Tragedy was one thing. Now I’m free to go more than a wall’s thickness away for refuge, and frankly, I like now better.

  I turn my back on the happy couple and displace, but I can’t deny that I’m smiling. It’s nice to see Ryder and Hannah genuinely happy.

  Meggie’s still sleeping when my body stops jetting across the Earth and lands in her dark bedroom. I park in the corner chair and close my eyes to let my mind go blank. Turns out, this is easier said than done because the image of the phantom girl takes over. Tate. Why is her name so hard for me to think? Tate. Tate. Tate.

  I’m bombarded with questions and don’t have a single answer. What had her attention across the street? Why do I feel like I should know? Was she real or am I seriously losing it? How did she manage to look so happy and sad all at once?

  With a frustrated groan, I’m up and pacing for the remainder of the night.

  Just after the sun comes up, the front doorknob jingles.

  “Awful early for a visit,” I say to Elliott when I get into the living room, even though I knew he would be here.

  “Ryan wanted to check in on them and drop off breakfast before he went to work,” Elliott says. “What the heck happened yesterday?”

  Lawson moves back into the bedroom and my eyes fall to the tan carpet. “It was no big deal.” No way am I going to tell him what happened. If he thinks, even for a minute, that his story telling is working, I’m done for.

  Ryan roots quietly through the kitchen and the coffee maker clicks on. My stomach kicks at the scent. I’m not thirsty, but I want some. Badly.

  “I’ve got another one for you.”

  I force my mind off the coffee I can’t have. “Another what?”

  “Story.” Before I can even form an expression, Elliott begins. “At one of Tate’s music recitals, there was a guy from her music class who was into her. He didn’t try to hide it, either. Apparently you weren’t very intimidating.” He pauses, finding more humor in his joke than I do.

  I force my fisted hands open. I have no idea why this bothers me.

  “During his own solo, his eyes stayed on Tate the entire time he was playing.”

  “Let me guess, he played guitar?” I can picture it now, rock star steals girlfriend from ordinary, boring guy.

  “Drums,” Elliott corrects.

  Mental kick. Why do I even care?

  “At the end of the recital, he came over to our group and went on and on about how great she did, directing most of his words and all of his sight to her chest. Tate didn’t notice, though. She was too busy trying to reclaim her fingers from your death grip. She finally had to mouth the word stop before you broke her hand.”

  I almost smile, not that I remember any of Elliott’s story, but the reaction sounds like me.

  “Tate cut the guy off and he finally left after she had to whisper to you to behave. My mom kept her eyes on you like she was afraid you were going to jump the dude. My dad thought the whole thing was hysterical. It was a shame, actually. I was looking forward to a good fight.”

  I fail at smiling and I focus on the scent of coffee again.

  Elliott’s voice gets quieter. “Tate told me about when you were diagnosed. The doctor said the words, said that you had cancer, but she didn’t really hear him. She couldn’t hear anything. She said it was like the world had stopped. While the doctor was explaining everything, she was in pain. She couldn’t look at you. She said she would have broken in half if she’d seen your face at that moment.”

  I don’t notice I’m gritting my teeth until Elliott finally shuts up and then I find myself in the tiny master bathroom, not even sure how or why I moved.

  Elliott must have followed. “You all right?”

  “I need a minute.” Using the pedestal sink for support, I focus on the black and white tiles. He doesn’t take the hint. “Get out!”

  When he retreats, I try to breathe through the flames of pain in my scars. Blinking back tears, something in the tub catches my eye.

  What the—

  “Do you believe in fate?” the girl whispers from the pink water. Her hazel eyes, clear and intense, are focused on me.

  Red trails float through the water from the deep lines in her wrists. I reach into the water to pull her free, but the liquid becomes thick red jelly, swallowing her. I jump into the goo, frantically digging for her. I know I’m screaming. I have to be.

  When I blink, the tub is empty and my jeans and arms are clean. I suck in a breath, and another, and another, before hurling into the sink. My watery vomit vanishes as soon as it touches the green porcelain.

  I force my body to move slowly into the living room. “Willow said Tate tried to kill herself.”

  Elliott and Lawson are both there, seemingly waiting for me. Elliott’s expression is downright scary. I suspect I’m looking pretty scary myself.

  Elliott nods.

  “Did it happen in the bathtub?”

  He swallows and nods again.

  “It’s working.”

  “What is?” he manages, though I think he knows.

  “Your stories, or whatever. I don’t know. Something is making me see her.”

  “Are your memories coming back?” There’s hope in his voice.

  I shake my head to answer and decide to add, “But I’m seeing her. She was on the hood of Ryan’s SUV yesterday and I just saw her in the bathroom.” I slide down the wall, having to sit while the images of Tate play over in my head.

  “You all right?” Lawson whispers.

  I can’t answer. I’m a lot of things, but all right is not one of them.

  Elliott, using his better judgement, stays quiet until he and Ryan leave. Lawson does the same and the house is silent until Meggie and Brody wake. I wait in the bedroom while Meggie showers. After that, she brushes her teeth and her hair. In another step in the right direction, she surprises me by wearing something other than sweatpants. This is huge progress.

  After assuring Brody that she’ll be fine, Meg
gie and I are off to the hospital in her mom’s compact car, keeping good on a promise Meggie made to Janine.

  “Stop in for twenty minutes, that’s all I’m asking,” Janine had said. “The other nurses need to know you’re OK. They don’t believe me and want to see you for themselves. They miss you.”

  Prepared from my earlier reading, I perform my first block as soon as we get through the hospital’s sliding doors, the second when she sees Janine, the third when she sees a few other nurses, and the fourth, fifth and sixth when she sees the elderly doctor who delivered her kids.

  There are a million places I’d rather be this afternoon. Actually, any place would be better. The image of Tate in the jelly goo fills my head. Strike that, any place but one.

  When I’ve lost count of blocks, Meggie and the compact car freeze a quarter mile before the neighborhood entrance. I shut my calimeter off and displace to my room.

  Must. Code. Now. There’s no way around it.

  I drop my bag at the door. On my walk down the hall, my feet move as if enclosed in mafia-style, swim-with-the-fishes concrete boots. I park myself on the mat and try to recognize the exhausted guy staring back at me from the mirrored wall. I use both hands to comb through my hair and then close my eyes.

  Everything goes exactly as I expect. The binds release when I’m in my tree stand and I feel briefly, falsely great before the usual nightmare steals it away. Funny thing: even when prepared for the ice followed by the scorching branding iron, the torture still hurts worse than I had imagined.

  “I can’t go on without you,” the flame whispers in the girl’s—Tate’s—voice.

  I’m screaming before my eyes even open.

  After a change of clothes and with a desperately needed coffee in hand, I jog across the expansive field to Trina. She’s in the middle of blocking Jackson. The other Elites are already working as well.

  I’m out of breath when I reach her. “I need to talk to you.”

  Trina turns to me in mid-block and the bubble that was formed around her and Jackson fades away. “I need to talk to you, too.”