by Lee Davidson
“No!” I lunge and push Lawson out of the way, forming my energy around Brody.
I shove Brody hard to the side with my shoulder and he crashes into a kitchen chair. At the same time, the bottle smashes against the wall just inches from Meggie’s head. Part of the liquid that managed to miss her leaves a urine-colored stain on the celery green wall.
My shoulder feels like it’s boiling, but I’m so used to burning lately, I hardly notice.
Meggie’s expression is a mix of disbelief and disgust. The chair is in three pieces and Brody isn’t in much better shape. Lawson, standing back up, is clearly not happy with me, but Ryan and Elliott charge through the front door before he can say so.
Ryan, wearing a formal suit similar to his funeral attire, stops abruptly at Brody’s body. “What did you do to him?”
Surprisingly, Meggie doesn’t look shocked or confused because her disgust has taken over. Certainly she’ll be questioning how Brody smashed into the chair, but at this moment, she apparently doesn’t care.
Ryan looks from Meggie to Brody and then to the stained wall while I wonder how much trouble I’m in. Meggie’s head is still in one piece, so any consequence will be worth it.
“Are you OK?” Ryan asks.
Meggie nods.
“Did he hurt you?”
Meggie shakes her head.
Ryan loosens his tie on his way over to Brody. “Should we call an ambulance?”
“Probably.” Meggie glares at Brody from her place by the living room entry while Brody rolls into a fetal position and moans. The revulsion melts from her face and is replaced by so much sadness my heart breaks for her.
Ryan watches Meggie for a few seconds before going for the phone. He finds the mutilated phone on the floor, curses and disappears into the living room.
“What happened?” Elliott asks.
“What the heck is wrong with you?” Lawson roars at me before Elliott gets an answer.
“How about a thank you?” My word choice probably could have been better.
Yes, word choice definitely could have been better.
Lawson lunges but I’m in the living room and over the sofa before he can catch me. He could come through the furniture if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. With narrowed eyes, probably debating if I’m worth it or not, he opts for not worth it and his puffed up body relaxes. Elliott’s does the same.
“If you think I’ll stand back while he crushes her skull, you don’t know me at all.”
Lawson ignores me and proceeds to park himself on the far side of the room.
Ryan appears from the hallway, announces that an ambulance is on the way, and stalks into the kitchen. The wall separating us muffles his low voice, but not completely. “If you try to touch my sister again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”
Brody’s so inebriated, I doubt he can understand anything, but he groans what I guess could mean yes.
While I’m ignoring Elliott’s relentless questioning about the event, three paramedics come through the door. They each nod to Meggie like they know her and then survey the kitchen. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put together what happened; just the stench alone is enough, but every one of their assumptions is wrong. No one in their right mind would guess it was a ghost who crushed Brody and the chair.
One of the blue-uniformed guys asks Ryan what happened.
“Brody got drunk and went after Meg.”
When Meggie opens her mouth, Ryan jumps over Brody and puts his arm around his sister, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m just glad I got here when I did to keep him off her. I may have pushed him a little too hard in the process.”
The guys take in the sight of Brody and the busted chair six feet away and the replay flashes through my head. Who knew the human body could bounce so high?
“Meg, are you all right?” another one of the uniformed guys asks.
Meggie hugs her arms around her frail body. “I’ve been better.”
“Did he hurt you?” the same guy asks.
“Not physically.” She turns to Ryan. “I’m going to go lay down. Can you handle this?”
Ryan nods and she disappears into the hallway. From the bathroom comes the sound of a pill bottle shaking and the water turning on and off. The bed squeaks a minute later.
Brody groans, reminding everyone why they’re here, and the medics start the process of transferring Brody’s body to a stretcher. Ryan follows the guys out to load Brody into the ambulance.
Elliott finally speaks. “What the heck happened here?”
“Yes, Grant, why don’t you enlighten Elliott on how Brody fell into the chair,” Lawson suggests on his way to the front door.
“I pushed him.”
Elliott’s confused. “How’d you push him?”
I take two strides toward Elliott and nudge my shoulder into his. His left foot goes back to catch his balance.
“Like that, only harder,” I pause. “A lot harder.”
“This isn’t a joke,” Lawson scolds from the doorway.
“I know it’s not a joke!” I erupt and take two steps toward Lawson. “You saw that bottle, how hard he threw it. It would have broken her skull and you know it!”
Lawson focuses on his fisted hands while I try to calm my temper.
“I wish I didn’t have to push him, but your blocks weren’t working. I get that you’re angry with me, but you need to understand I can’t let him hurt Meggie. She’s been hurt enough.”
Lawson is unreadable when he steps outside to be with Brody. With Elliott and me now silent, the conversation on the porch is audible through the open door.
“I should be asking Meggie this, but considering the situation, I’ll defer to you. Does she want to press charges?” one of the medics asks.
Another guy’s voice answers. “Come on guys, this is unlike him. Every one of us knows that. What they’re going through…”
“We have to ask. You know that,” the first medic replies.
“I could kill him.” Ryan’s voice is full of hate.
After a pause, a lowered voice says, “Ryan, he’s not your father,”
Ryan clears his throat. “She won’t press charges.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know my sister. I need to check on her. Are we finished here?”
After a short pause, Ryan comes through the open door.
“Call any of us on cell if you need anything,” a voice says from outside.
Ryan slams the door hard enough to make the walls shake, and heads toward the bedroom.
Elliott watches Ryan stomp by and I follow. From the bed, Meggie looks up at her brother. Her eyes and nose are red and she hugs her arms around her knees like the scared child she was so many years ago.
Ryan tries to offer comfort. “I’m staying the night. I’ll call Nancy and let her know.”
Meggie wears a dead expression and says nothing. I was expecting an argument; in fact, I would prefer an argument to make her seem alive again. I leave the room feeling hopeless, knowing there’s nothing anyone can say or do that will make her situation better.
“Looks like we’re having a slumber party,” I say to Elliott, who’s seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the chair.
“Really?” He reaches into his bag and skims a page in his book. “That’s strange. I knew about the argument and that Ryan was coming over here, but he and Nancy are supposed to attend a company dinner tonight. They were going to show up late because of Meggie’s unexpected phone call.”
“Brody wasn’t supposed to be making a trip to the hospital either. I guess my actions changed things up a bit.” I try to be nonchalant, though a part of me is worried about what I’ve done. The argument should have ended with Brody passing out and Meggie crying to Ryan for about an hour before forcing him to return to his company function.
“How’d you push him?” Elliott asks a few minutes later.
The subje
ct change Elliott is offering is better than making myself crazy thinking about the undocumented events that have unfolded. “I focused my energy around Brody’s body and then used my shoulder to hit him. I still can’t believe that works,” I say more to myself.
“I had no idea we could touch living people. You’re nuts. You know that, right? Not that I’m surprised. You’ve never been one to follow the rules.”
Maybe Elliott really did know me in real life. I cross to the sofa and sink into the cushion to get comfortable. “I need to know more about Tate.” I need to figure out what this sudden connection to her is all about. I need a memory to stick.
Elliott appears shocked, not that I blame him. I never thought I’d be voluntarily asking him about his sister.
“OK.” Elliott fidgets with the shoelaces of his black Chucks. “Tate loved carnivals and would insist on going every time one came to town. You hated them. Actually, loathed would be the better word. Save me, man. She’s forcing me to hang with the carnies tonight, you said to me more than once before you left our house.”
“Let me guess, you didn’t help me out?”
“Wasn’t my problem. She’d make you ride the Tilt-A-Whirl about a hundred times by calling you a chicken. And she’d always come home with some obnoxious stuffed animal that you’d end up spending two hundred bucks to win.” Elliott’s face brightens. “Sometimes I really wanted to tell you to grow a pair, man. You were like a puppy around her.”
“She was probably putting out,” I say to even the blow.
The color of Elliott’s face seems to be directly affected by my grin because the wider I smile, the deeper red his cheeks get.
Obviously pissed, his next story starts with, “When you had cancer and were a bald-headed mutant,” if that doesn’t scream mad, nothing does, “Tate was going to shave her head. She would have done it, too, if you hadn’t held her down and pulled the clippers out of her hand. She thought if she looked like you—you know: a freak—people would stop staring at you all the time. You told her it would make them stare more because you’d be the misfit couple. I told her you really were a sissy if you couldn’t handle a few looks.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. You really were decrepit.”
“I bet I still looked ten times better than you,” I jab back.
“Ha, hardly!”
Something makes his eyes sad. “She really thought you were going to beat it. When you died,” he pauses, “when you died, a part of her died, too. She became a different person, not just in appearance, but inside. She was never right after that. It started at your funeral, which was a cry-fest, by the way. Jeez, there were so many people there.”
“Really?” I don’t remember knowing more than a handful of people. “Who?”
“Lots of patients from the hospital. You made a lot of friends during your treatments. People were drawn to you, although I still don’t get why. It’s not for your charm, I can tell you that.”
I half smile.
Elliott continues. “Everyone from your dad’s company was there and most of our high school teachers came. My extended family took up a lot of space, too. Tate did all right during the visitation, but not on the day of your funeral. In the middle of your burial, she took off running through the cemetery. I was able to convince my parents to let me go after her instead of them, which was good because your mom really leaned on my mom for support that day. Your dad was worthless in that department. He couldn’t stop crying long enough to do anything. I found Tate hiding behind a headstone on the other side of the cemetery. She was gasping for air. She begged me to…”
He stops talking for a few seconds.
“She begged me to make the pain go away. She said she was burning from the inside out.”
As if on cue, the pain of my scars steals my breath away. I bite into my fist to keep myself from screaming. “I need a minute,” I croak into my hand and spring up from the sofa.
In the backyard seconds later, the yellow light collects gnats while I try to catch my breath.
“You ready?”
When I spin around, my mouth won’t work. When my lips finally move, my voice is just a whisper. “Tate?”
Wearing an electric smile that brightens the yard more than the whitish-blue tint of the moon, she laughs and throws a kernel at me before shifting the bowl of popcorn in the crook of her elbow. “I’ve got the movie in already.”
My voice won’t work.
“Are you feeling all right?” She cocks her head to the side. “That was a pretty strong treatment you had today. We can just sleep if you want.”
I swallow.
She rests the back of her hand on my forehead and her touch is cool against my skin. “You’re really warm. I’ll go get your pills.”
Her face turns dark first, and then the rest of her body follows. The ash crumbles to the ground and blows away with a breeze that didn’t exist a minute ago.
I search for a trace of something, anything, to prove she was here. Of course, there’s nothing. She’s more of a ghost than I am.
I take over twenty minutes trying to sort out the anomaly before going back inside.
I sit back on the sofa and try to remain calm. “Tell me more.”
Elliott spends the rest of the night telling me stories about birthday parties, weekend trips, and family things. He tells me how much time Tate and I spent together, about my treatments, about all the movies we watched, but nothing he says triggers any burning or weird visions.
He and Ryan leave in the morning without giving me what I need: another vision of Tate. Ryan promises to be back as soon as he gets off work so at least I’ll get to push Elliott for more later.
Meggie sips the coffee Ryan has made for her and picks at a burnt piece of toast without taking a bite. After a shower, as documented, she spends the rest of the day at the hospital, but not for Brody. I’m more than a little relived that she’s back on the path her book has shown.
I only have to block her twice in the baby nursery. Instead of devastating her, the tiny people have the reverse effect. At one point, her smile actually touches her eyes.
When I leave, Meggie freezes with her arms wrapped around a baby boy.
16. That reaction is appropriate, given the circumstance
Even though I actually want to, burning pain and all, I decide against coding, but only out of fear that Jonathan may get suspicious if I’m late for training again. I change clothes, grab coffee, and am on the field in less than ten minutes. My stomach knots together at Trina’s absence and I avoid eye contact with Lawson.
Jonathan is all business today. His eyes are tired when he says, “Pair off and begin blocking drills. Billy, please be our Watcher today. Grant, I need you to come with me.”
Jonathan walks off the field. When I realize I should probably be walking with him, I jog to catch up.
“Everything OK?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Jonathan doesn’t answer.
This has to be about Willow. She probably ratted me out because she’s worried about my scars. When I see her, she’s done for, is what I’m thinking as I follow Jonathan silently down the Orders hall.
With each of his three knocks on a vacant, gold desk, a chime echoes around us and a marble wall panel slides away. Jonathan, a man of few words today, walks through the new doorway. I almost prefer to stay in the Orders hall, but curiosity makes my feet move. The marble booms closed behind us and Jonathan walks past a small seating area.
I follow Jonathan through a maze of bright but narrow passageways. Even given the circumstances, I can’t help but admire the turn-of-the-century, decorative woodwork along the walls.
After what seems like a half mile later, Jonathan stops in front of a pair of seeded glass paneled doors tall enough to make the courtyard entry seem toddler-sized.
“Is everything all right?” I ask Jonathan, feeling nervous and edgy from his silence.
&
nbsp; He steps back to allow door number one to swing open. “Excuse me for a moment.” When he steps into the room, the door closes too quickly for me to see what is on the other side.
Willow is so going down for this.
Jonathan returns a minute later, says, “This way,” and directs me through the door.
The architecture is magnificent enough that the elaborate hallways may as well have been an afterthought. The arched columns that serve as walls around the ceiling-less room expose a landscape of tall grasses beyond them. In the distance past the fields, forest and mountains pierce the blue skyline. An evergreen-scented breeze passes through. Our muted rubber soles on the tile are the only sound in the room. Even the scarlet tanagers are quiet, perched in long lines atop the arches. Their heads turn to follow us as we walk through the pathway between a large outer and inner circular desk structure.
When we stop on the sunburst design in the center of the tile floor, one of the archways in the far corner swings inward and a long line of people file in and fill the gold chairs surrounding the desks.
I clear my throat and shift uncomfortably, wondering why I feel like I should know this place. I consider asking Jonathan—who hasn’t made eye contact since the field—where we are, but I am interrupted by the audience settling into seats.
“Hello, Grant. I’m Landon.”
My eyes move to the guy sitting at the elevated portion of the inner desk. He broadens his shoulders and, though he may be trying, his smile is not friendly.
“A situation has been brought to our attention.”
Willow, you are so dead.
He goes on. “You used unnecessary force on your assignment. This is an offense we cannot take lightly.” Goodbye fake smile.
When his words fully register, ten seconds later, I try to hide my relief and swallow. “Yeah, uh, I’m sorry about that.” I run my hand through my tangled hair. “It was necessary to keep Meggie safe. Who are you again?”
“I’m Landon.”
Jeez, I’m not the biggest idiot in the universe. “Who are your friends?” I ask as hundreds of eyes stare at me. I hope the guy gives me a little more than the people’s individual names.
