by Jan Harman
“I get it. You’re embarrassed to tell me how you got those nicknames. If I ask your grandfather will he tell me tales of boyhood adventures gone amiss?”
His amused expression dissolved. “Do not ask him anything.”
My smile froze on my face. “Well, don’t let me hold you up. I’m perfectly capable of banal social conversations.” I twisted free of his restraining arm and shoved the swinging door open. As it swung shut in his perfect face, I thought I heard laughter coming from the front door.
After my aunt’s polite introduction, she removed herself to the farthest corner of the room where she proceeded to rearrange the silverware drawer. Shade’s grandfather grunted in the general direction of the door, and then turned to bore holes into the back of my aunt’s head. Maybe Shade had given his grandfather the same friendly chat. What did that make me, a social pariah? I plopped onto a chair and poured myself a glass of lemonade so tart that it puckered my lips. Fifteen minutes of weighted silence crept by while I swirled my glass, creating intricate spirals on the butcher block table that resembled art projects I’d made in kindergarten out of paint and marbles.
“My aunt and I appreciate the use of the beds,” I said to fill the emptiness with something other than the rhythmic tinkling of silverware being placed into the drawer.
Sunken turquoise eyes—that had an eerie way of catching the light so that the green rays looked like they were bisecting the irises—reminded me too much of what I’d seen in Shade’s eyes the other night. Speaking for the first time in a gravelly voice that grated on my nerves, Shade’s Grandpa Fern said, “Pepperdine’s are substantial souls of the earth. Hard to believe the line has come down to this scrawny sample. So, girl, are you a product of your generation’s whims with no regards for what’s truly important? Don’t worry; a satellite dish will hook your computer back into your precious web.”
He leaned towards my aunt as though sheer willpower could get her to turn around and finish what I’d interrupted. “Claire, you ought to have done right by your line and fixed that mess you made of your life. Now we’re forced to make do with Ethan’s surviving heir.”
The drawer slammed closed. I waited open-mouthed for my aunt’s response; certain that she wouldn’t allow the callous statement to go unchallenged. Instead, she pulled another box closer and studiously undid its flaps. I wanted to rip the box away and scream at her to stop.
The thumping and banging of my bed being disassembled drew his gaze to the ceiling. “Girl, be careful with my grandsons,” he said, adopting an aggressive stance.
I recoiled, my hands inching closer to my earbuds. Uncertain how to respond to this sour old man, I looked to my aunt for guidance. From where I sat, I had a clear view of her profile with its mottled cheek and lips that moved as she spoke under her breath. My fingers curled tight around my plastic cup, buckling it on one side.
“Claire Pepperdine,” Shade’s Grandpa Fern snapped. My aunt flinched. “I said, things have gone on too long.”
Shoulders squared and breathing heavily, she stepped away from the counter with her hands on her hips and her eyes locked onto his, like they were combatants sizing up their opponent. “I will honor her parents’ wishes for their daughter’s happiness. Ethan felt strongly on this matter. This place can be hard and Olivia has enough to deal with. You got your look. Now try to recall your manners,” she announced her tone barely civil.
“That’s not good enough.” He slammed a fist onto the kitchen table, jiggling the lemonade pitcher against the napkin holder. “Heaven help us if she’s a weak-willed, flighty little thing like you were at that age.”
I gasped. “Aunt Claire’s not weak. She took care of everything after the accident.”
My aunt cocked her head towards the door. “Olivia, I think it would be a good idea for you to start some unpacking.”
Before I could step away from the table, a hand shot out, grabbing my arm in a tight grip. “She’s got some spunk at least. What else you got, girl?”
For an elderly man, who looked like he could keel over any minute the way his skin seemed to sag off his boney body, he had excellent reflexes and was stronger than I expected. Even so, I was afraid to pull away in case I hurt him.
“Enough! This is our home. I trust you to remember that,” Aunt Claire said in an angry voice that made Shade’s grandfather raise an eyebrow and release my arm. She wrapped a trembling arm about my shoulders and propelled me to the door. “Go!”
There was no arguing with the firm look in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied only too glad to leave her to deal with Shade’s senile grandfather.
Several boxes had been stacked on top of the dining room table. I scooped up one the movers had labeled oriental vases and headed to the living room. I got as far as the archway between the two rooms and stopped. My mother’s collection had no place amongst the early turn-of-the-century period pieces, peeling hydrangea print wallpaper, and natty drapes. I set the box back on the dining room table and slit open a large carton filled with contemporary artwork that had graced our foyer and living room. I shoved the box aside and slit open another. My hands shook as I unwrapped more of my past that didn’t fit in this foreign environment.
***
The wrought-iron gate squeaked in protest to my hard shove. A light mist raised goose bumps on my bare arms as I struck out for the grove of trees at the base of the hill. In my haste, I slipped on the damp, aspen leaves stuck to the grassy slope. Back muscles clenched, reminding me that I’d forgotten to do my exercises this morning. Water droplets plopped onto my head. I huddled deeper under the aspen canopy, watching their golden leaves quake and remembering, with a lump thickening in my throat, all those places I’d called home.
Overgrown bushes tapped against the side of the gazebo. I tried not to listen, tried not to be snagged by those brief nanoseconds of quiet. Ever since the accident, I had issues with—well too many things—in particular, repetitive sounds. They reminded me of things dripping, like overturned cups, gasoline, and blood.
And something else. Something terrifying. Something in the dark—waiting in the quiet.
I broke out in a cold sweat. My mouth went dry and a weight settled over my chest, a prelude to coming unglued. It kept building. Afraid this time I couldn’t stop it, I stared up at the manor, hugging my arms across my chest. Choose normal. Just turn and look. See, it’s just a stupid branch. Ignore it. I clenched a fist against my lips to keep the giggle inside. Go back to the house and take part in ordinary conversations. Take a step. Can’t. Shade’s nasty grandfather was in the kitchen, no doubt tormenting my poor aunt. For some reason, he’d formed a low opinion of me. No need to give him a legitimate excuse. Movers were setting up my bedroom set meant for anyplace but here. I had nowhere else private to go except the gazebo.
Shade had implied I had no fight left in me. I did. Some days, my quota got used up during those sleepy first moments when I woke up and still thought my world was right side up. I yanked open the gazebo door. It didn’t matter that the place was dusty, dirty, and possibly structurally unsound. I might be able to feel my father here at least. That would be worth confronting nightmare-inducing tapping. On trembling legs, I circled the inside of the abandoned structure, hurrying past the spot next to the bushes. The sound drummed louder in my skull, amplified by wood and traumatic memories. I dug through my pockets for my earbuds and iPod, coming up empty. I’d left them on a box. A sob welled up and spilled out into the nonjudgmental room. My crutch slipped from my hand as I slid down the wall.
Strong arms caught me, cradling me on the way down to the floor. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking. Are you cold?” Shade asked as he propped my crutch against the wall.
That he’d materialized, at the precise moment when I felt the most alone since arriving in Spring Valley, didn’t surprise me. Despite the other night, I gave myself permission to open the door a crack, knowing somehow that he wouldn’t abuse that trust. “I’ve lived in more homes than I can count,
so the manor should just be another shell waiting to come alive. But nothing of mine fits, not my mother’s beautiful collections, nor my aunt who should be off pursuing her art. This is my father’s home, but I can’t find him in it. I want to go back east to my old school. I don’t fit here.” I stumbled over my words barely coherent, trying hard not to break down.
“Go get her a jacket. And tell that old bear he’d better apologize,” Shade ordered.
I swung my head towards the door. I’d thought we were alone. Shadow was lounging against the frame with his hands in his pockets, staring at me through hooded eyes that I couldn’t read. Great, like his grandfather, he didn’t like me either. My shoulders slumped.
“I’ll get the drama queen her jacket, but he’s your problem,” Shadow answered.
Shade pivoted towards his brother. “You’re being rude and unnecessarily unreasonable.”
“Sorry, if I’ve got a mind of my own.” Shadow’s frown deepened. “I’m not encouraged.”
“You will show proper respect. You will abide by the rulings of your family and your clan. You will act accordingly at all times. Is that clear?”
“Golden boy thinks he’s got it all figured out. One day, big brother, you’ll see I was right.”
“You? That’s priceless,” Shade scoffed. “For the moment, Olivia needs to be warm, dry, and treated with some compassion.”
“That’s not going to make her what she isn’t, resilient.”
“She will be,” Shade defended. “If you’d just—”
“I’d like a Porsche, but crossing my fingers and wishing hard won’t make that true either.” Shadow rocked off the door and blew out a breath of air. “Crap, I was right upstairs. It’s you that needs to examine your motives.”
“And I told you to flush your filthy mind. Apologize to Olivia.”
“Did I strike a nerve, saintly brother?”
Shade shot to his feet, knocking over my crutch, sending it clunking across the floor. I scooted forward and snagged it with my foot. When I turned back, Shade had a fistful of the back of Shadow’s shirt, dragging him from the door. Clouds of dust rose off the floor distorting movements and stinging my eyes, making it hard to keep track of the bodies wrestling in the flat light. One of the twins skidded across the floor; his back sweeping up years’ worth of grime.
“This is ridiculous, you’re grown men,” I shouted, scrambling ungracefully to my feet. Fists flew. Air whistled past my right ear. Belatedly, it struck me that I’d stupidly rushed into the middle of a fistfight. Shadow folded his arms across his chest and slid to the side, still within range of his brother, but far enough from me to keep me from getting hurt. Shade moved as well, placing his body as a barrier between us. I eyed them carefully, wondering what to do if they started up again. By the nasty look Shadow was giving me, I knew this was far from over.
Shadow swatted at his pant, his hands coming away coated in dirt. “That was a cheap shot. These were new. You’re wasting your life. You know that don’t you? She’s superficial and an emotional mess. The valley won’t even be a fond memory the moment she is at college.”
Shade reached out a hand. “Shad, give her time to adjust. You owe it to . . . him.”
Hard eyes flicked once in my direction. “Wise up. It doesn’t have to be like this,” Shadow replied, speaking quieter almost pleading. “I’m petitioning the council. Join me.”
Shade staggered back, his mouth slack. “Don’t. We’re a team. You’re making a mistake.”
“At least I get to make one. When everything is spiraling around the drain, remember it was your decisions that dissolved this team.” He shoved past Shade, slamming the door against the railing. The gazebo shook, knocking clumps of dirt and dust off the rafters.
I sneezed and pointed to the door. “You can’t leave things like this.”
“He’s made his choice.”
I couldn’t understand the hard edge in Shade’s voice. I’d give anything to be able to speak with my brother who’d died that horrible summer before I started seventh grade. “Why must you be stubborn? He’s your twin. Go after him. Clear whatever this is up.”
A muscle in Shade’s jaw began to pulse.
“It doesn’t matter who is at fault. You hit him.”
Shade’s hands hung in tight, shaking fist at his sides.
“Catch him before he gets your grandfather into the car. Go!” I persisted.
“Stop it,” he shouted, spinning about, so I couldn’t see his face. The doorjamb creaked beneath the shaking weight of his taut body.
“Shade?” I said uncertainly.
“Have some sense, girl. Stop speaking to me,” he said savagely.
I cringed and my lips began to quiver. Emotions that were quick to erupt from the littlest things dragged me a step closer to cutting that fine strand that held me together. I may be a pathetic mess, but I had a measure of pride. I swept past him, swinging on my crutch with as much poise as I could manage, biting the inside of my mouth to keep from moaning when my left leg twisted on the bottom step. Head held high, I kept going, refusing even at the gate to turn back to see if he’d watched my awkward march up the slope. I fled up the back stairs to my room and flopped down on my unmade bed. I refused to come out until I heard his truck leave.
Chapter 5
By the light of the fire and with a cup of warm cider in my hand, the four by six inch map hadn’t looked all that difficult to follow. I swung the beam of the flashlight down the next opening. More corn. Big surprise. I squinted at the squiggly lines that were supposed to be the eagle’s tail feathers and stalked several feet down the path. Another dead end. I was going in circles. Halloween night lost in a haunted corn maze, loads of fun. Where had Trent wandered off to? He’d been right behind me.
Shrieks followed by nervous laughter were carried on the wind that smelled of smoke from the bonfires. I should just plow through the corn and join that group. But no, that would ruin the trails for others and probably give me a rash like JoAnna had gotten when we went to a maze last year. From somewhere just up ahead, dried stalks cracked. “Trent, is that you?” I pulled my collar up. For another hot cider, I’d forgive him for getting us lost. “Try to aim for my voice. I told you we should’ve circled around the left side of the bridge. Oops sorry, you’re not . . . Hey, you didn’t happen to see a guy in a letterman’s jacket around here?” I asked, hurrying towards the figure dressed in a black trench coat that flapped in the breeze, thinking maybe he knew where I was on this useless map. A deep, rumbling growl rose out of the corn. Oh crap! I held my breath and eased back from the decoy, crunching brittle leaves beneath my boots. Fingers snatched the ends of my scarf. I tugged free, spinning around in the process, coming face to face with a refrigerator sized zombie lunging out of the shadows, arms outstretched, fingers grasping.
I leapt back a foot, my heart jumping up to my throat. My quivering flashlight illuminated a misshapen face covered in jagged scars that oozed blood. I lowered the light. The skull and crossbones on his T-shirt glowed in the dark. “Very scary. Awesome make-up job,” I stuttered. He, it, whatever lumbered closer. I thrust the map in front of his face. “Could you show me where I am? Better yet, just tell me how to get to the exit. I’m getting cold.”
A bloodied hand brushed my face, leaving a trail of something sticky across my cheek. I shrieked and jumped back, almost losing my footing. “Yuck!” The zombie knocked my map out of my hand and then ground it into the dirt with his heel. “Hey!”
I hugged the edge of the trail, trying to scoot by. He blocked my path, kicking my heart rate into overdrive. One of his arms, that looked like it had been dipped in blood, swung to encircle my waist. I dodged the arm and angled across the trail, holding my crutch out to keep him back. He lunged after me, forcing me down a side passage. Fueled by my real life nightmares, I took off as fast as my legs could go. Trent could find me in the parking lot. I was so out of here.
Even with my crutch, I should’ve been going fast enough
to outdistance a lumbering zombie. “Hey, that’s cheating. Stay in character. Zombies are supposed to be slow,” I shouted breathlessly. The trail made a tight curve. I staggered forward a few more feet before I realized the crackling of dried stalks only came from beneath my feet. This place needed a safe word for guest when they were done having years taken off their lives. I cast the beam of my flashlight over my shoulder one last time as I leaned heavily on my crutch, trying to suck in air, trying to ignore the dark mass of all that corn boxing me in. My flashlight dimmed. I wet my lips and breathed with a rock in my chest. I took three steps backward on shaky legs, unlocking my knees. The beam of light brightened, illuminating bent stalks that resembled faces. My hand shook almost dropping my light. Don’t have an episode. Find Trent and laugh this off. A familiar growl snapped my head around. I gulped. Unbelievable, I’d finally stumbled onto one of the looping trails for the tail feather, and it had circled me right back around to my personal zombie.
“Enough already, I just want to go home. Find someone else to scare.” I stepped forward, determined to show no fear.
Hands gripped my upper arms and lifted me off the ground, even with a mangled face. I screamed and squirmed. From several rows over, a group of teens laughed. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t fun. Put me down,” I yelled, my voice much higher than normal.
I landed on my knees so hard that it felt like white-hot pokers were tunneling through my nerves, paralyzing my body. “You jerk!” I cried, the words coming out before my brain engaged.
I inched slowly away from the bully, one hand pulling my left leg along. I needed to hide, to curl up into a ball, to wait him and the pain out. Light stabbed my eyes. A bloody hand grabbed the ends of my scarf, using them to drag me onto my watery feet. I reacted, swinging my crutch wildly, whacking the zombie on his shin. He grunted and ripped it out of my hand.
Coarse stalks of corn slapped my face, stinging my cheeks. I thrashed my legs and tugged at meaty fingers. We plowed through the corn wall and into the clearing bordering the exterior of the maze. I screamed again. He laughed, shifted his grip, and then squeezed my middle tight, cutting off my next scream.
