“Destiny? What are you talking about Granna?”
“Now what fun would it be if I told you?” she replied, burying her smile behind her cup of hot cocoa.
I snorted and turned back to concentrate on the computer screen. The site we had been searching for popped up.
The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.
“Why don’t you go and get that, love? We can look this up a bit later,” Granna said.
“Seriously, Granna? You’re not curious?” I said exasperated.
“That paper has been sitting in that desk a long time, my child; a little more time won’t do any harm. Now, go get the door, it could be important.”
I stared at her blankly.
Granna pointed at the door. “Go!”
I rose and headed downstairs. Well, I reasoned, she probably would have gotten weird on me anyway. At least we’d avoided another destiny conversation. In fact, I just might leave that letter on the back burner for as long as possible.
33
The Watcher, December 2005
Jonathan sat dejectedly at the table in his dingy kitchen. The peeling orange wallpaper smelled of mold and old tacos. There were shadows under his eyes and his red t-shirt was stained with chicken grease. Turning up my nose in disgust, I had to remind myself why I was here.
I needed a body.
I had to be close to her. It was time to take what was mine. Ian had not been worthy, but Jonathan was different, moronic, and very pliable. He drank to forget, he drank because his demons wouldn’t allow sleep. There was nothing wrong with me saving him from a lifetime that could only end badly. He sat alone, crying into his beer, no doubt thinking of the girl he had lost.
Pathetic.
He looked up sharply, staggering to his feet.
“Who’s there?” he yelled. “I swear to God, if anybody’s there I’ll…” his slurred words trailed off, as his pea brain shut down.
I moved quickly and took a crisp white handkerchief out of my breast pocket. I reached up and dusted the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Grasping the light bulb, I braced myself and began sucking in the electricity. Its vibration coursed through my veins, radiating heat as I conjured up the desired image.
“What the hell?” Jonathan’s body teetered back. He covered his eyes to protect them from the bright, intense heat. He darted a quick look between his fingers, like a child playing peek-a-boo.
“You’re not hallucinating Jonathan, I’m here to help you,” I soothed. “Listen to me Jonathan, I have a proposition for you, and I think you’re going to like it.”
He eyed me suspiciously, “What are you, some kind of frickin’ ghost?”
“Of course not,” I purred. “I’m as real as you are and definitely more powerful than a ghost.”
Jonathan fell back into his seat. I glanced at the clock; two minutes till midnight. The veil between worlds was at its thinnest. Time was of the essence.
“Jonathan, how would it be if you never had to die? Not only that, but what if you were able to change anything; the past, the future, right now, for that matter. If you help me, anything you wish for can be yours.” I paused, allowing my words to sink into his befuddled brain.
“What are you talking about? You’re the result of too many beers, that’s what you are.” He laughed then, a nervous tick that crinkled the sides of his mouth into a rather grotesque grin, exposing his slightly crooked teeth.
“Well then, let me prove to you that I exist outside of your mind.”
I pressed my glowing hand to his forehead, and imprinted a slideshow of all he ever desired. I showed him the woman he loved; what they could be together. It was almost too easy; his mind was very receptive, taking it all in like a sponge.
“How did you do that, man? That’s creepy.”
Jonathan’s body convulsed from head to toe as I removed my hand, severing our connection.
“It’s a skill,” I replied briskly. “Do we have a deal?”
“No way! You’re a nut job. Go haunt someone else.” His words slurred together while his head bobbed back and forth, like a puppet’s with no string.
“Fine. I will have to do this my way. Don’t ever say I wasn’t nice,” I said.
The clocked chimed twelve. I focused my gaze and swiftly channeled my energy into his third eye. A swirling vortex opened; and with lightning speed I slipped inside just as the last chime sounded. I breathed a sigh of relief; I’d cut it close this time. I squeezed my friend Jonathan back to the far corners of his mind.
It was done.
34
Emma, December 2005
I peeked out the window to see who was at the door.
Jonathan.
My heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here?
The pelting rain slid down the windowpane, blurring his features. The weather didn’t look or feel like Christmas, but it suited my mood. Christmas Eve was only two weeks away. Jonathan and I were supposed to be going to the holiday festival of lights like we had last year. But things were different now. He had changed, and it was over. It had been almost two months since we’d parted. It was time to accept things the way they were.
The ding of the doorbell sounded again. Mustering up all my courage, I threw open the door.
Jonathan stood in the entrance, looking like a drenched rat. Rivulets of rain slid down his face. I think he made a habit of coming to visit me in the rain so he could look as pathetic as possible. He was wearing a midnight blue turtleneck sweater and khaki pants and he smelled divine. Old spice and cinnamon invaded my senses. It really was a cruel world.
He spoke quickly, probably sensing that I was about to slam the door in his face. “Emma, I know you’re still angry with me, but I just stopped by to make sure you were okay, and give you this.” He held out a green velvet jewelry box tied with red ribbon. Okay great, so now I had to resist the turtleneck, spice, and a present. It really wasn’t fair. Still, I had to be firm with him. I mustered up the sternest look I could manage.
“Jonathan, it’s not Christmas for another two weeks. Besides, I’m not accepting gifts from you. Please. It’s over; let’s not do this. We need to give each other some space. You have got to stop coming by like this.” I folded his fingers back over the box, then swiftly placed my hands behind my back so my itchy fingers wouldn’t snap it up.
He put the box back in his pocket. Well done, me! I had resisted temptation. That wasn’t so hard. Oh, who was I kidding? The real me wanted to hug him tight. Tell him all was forgiven, and then excitedly tear that little red ribbon off my gift and open it. But I couldn’t do that. Jonathan represented everything I didn’t need. Look what happened when I hadn’t listened to Granna before. She’d warned me he wasn’t the one; that the anger he had towards the world ate at his soul, whatever that meant.
I looked at him; his cheeks were flushed crimson. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Emma. You’ve been listening to your stupid Grandmother again. She’s the one filling your head with lies. Can’t we talk about this?” There was a brutal little edge in his tone.
“We have nothing to say to one another,” I said woodenly, slamming the door shut. I leaned against the door and began to cry. What had happened to him? I was upset and furious all at the same time. Everything was so out of control.
Suddenly a light exploded inside my head; my vision blurred. I found myself running, heading towards jagged stone cliffs. Jonathan was behind me, yelling for me to stop.
“I just want to talk,” he yelled, but his voice was carried away by the wind. Fear tore at my lungs as I struggled to catch my breath. I surged forward, propelling myself onwards. I didn’t remember the cliffs; it wasn’t the familiar landscape of home. But there was no time to analyze anything. Jonathan had caught up with me. I realized to my horror that I had reached the edge of the cliffs. Rocks beneath my feet fell away and disappeared into the churning ocean below.
Startled, I stepped back just as Jonathan grabbed my shoulders and a
ngrily spun me around. I teetered precariously on the edge until I managed to grab hold of him and anchor myself. My heart was pounding.
“I told you I just wanted to talk,” his voice rose over the stormy waves. “But you just wouldn’t listen, would you? You never listened to me. I didn’t want to do this…” his voice caught, “But you’ve forced me. If only you hadn’t been so stubborn.”
I struggled to get away, but lost my footing again, slipping backwards just as he released his hold on me. I plunged over the precipice into the murky ocean below.
The cries of my own voice penetrated through the foggy tunnel, jolting me back into the present.
Only seconds had passed.
What had just happened? I slumped to the foyer floor.
“Granna, please come. Please,” I whispered. “Come quickly.” A few seconds later, I heard the sound of sensible shoes reverberating loudly on the tiled floor. I was grateful, glad that she knew I needed her.
“Emma, good heavens child, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She eased her body gently down beside me. I reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Oh Granna, you were right! Something weird is happening to me,” I sobbed. “What am I going to do?”
Granna hugged me tightly. “Don’t worry my dear, your destiny will always find you.” She held me there for a minute or two, then grabbed hold of the doorknob and rose unsteadily to her feet. “Come along, I’ll make us a nice cup of hot chocolate and you can tell me all about it.”
I pulled myself up and followed Granna into the kitchen. I sat at the kitchen table, watching as Granna placed the steaming mugs in front of us. I gazed at the melting marshmallows in an effort to avoid Granna’s penetrating stare. Keeping my head down, I blurted out the whole story, I explained what had happened at the door, the dream of the desk and the letter. She sat quietly, listening attentively, her bright eyes wet with unshed tears. When I had finished she reached over and lifted my chin.
“It’s all right, Emma, everything is going to be just fine. The worst is over.”
“How can you know the worst is over?” I yelped.
“Because you’ve started to accept who you are,” she said softly. “You’ll have to relax dear, let the dreams and visions come in their own way. The more you try to figure them out, the more difficult it will be. I think it’s best if you just try to go about your life as you normally would. Things will appear when they’re supposed to.”
I slumped back in the chair and sighed. Why didn’t Granna ever have any easy answers? Why did everything have to be wrapped around some mystic riddle? Where was my black and white world? I closed my eyes and tried to visualize my “normal” world, before all this began. But all I felt was the beat of my heart.
35
Emma, May 2006
I breathed in the fresh spring air; I loved it when the weather was this nice. I felt the touch of the sun’s rays on my face as I basked in its warmth. Final exams were over. I was relieved, but also a little concerned. Perhaps I hadn’t done as well as I’d hoped with all the distractions. My grades had to be perfect to get into medical school. I had been so worried about my dreams and the bizarre things that had happened, but now I wasn’t even having nightmares. It was beginning to feel like I’d imagined it all, or maybe I was just starting to crack under the weight of my kooky family.
The only kin that was remotely normal was Mr. Beasley; my tabby alley cat. He purred liked a runaway freight train, hunted rodents like a hired assassin and drooled prolifically while seated on his favorite perch, admiring the antics of squirrels and birds.
I’d decided to take a walk to clear the dusty cobwebs from my mind. The wind whipped off the shoreline and I inhaled the salty ocean breeze, thankful that I lived in such an idyllic place. I was glad to be freed from enzymatic pathways and calculus equations. I wanted to be a Doctor with my entire being, but hated the endless studying. If only it wasn’t such a hard road to get there. I had sacrificed a lot for it. I wasn’t interested in the college scene, the drinking and the partying. My friends from high school said I never had time for them, which was true, I was too obsessed with getting good grades, plus I had my volunteer work at the hospital. They said I wasn’t any fun anymore. I couldn’t explain it to them, and slowly one by one they slipped out of my life. With a sigh I turned my mind away from unhappy thoughts and focused on the beautiful spring day. With a light skip, I made my way down the dusty road, enjoying having nowhere to be.
The sound of an engine barreling down the road made me turn. Not seeing a car, I kept on walking. Then, out of nowhere a red Corvette barreled around the bend. I leapt out of the way in the nick of time, and landed to the side of the embankment. The car had missed me by inches. I stood up and dusted myself off. Idiot, I fumed. He nearly killed me. I heard the sound of tires squealing, a high pitched yowl, and a thud. I sprinted to the corner and gazed in horror at the scene before me. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach, and I heard myself screaming.
“No!”
Mr. Beasley.
My precious Mr. Beasley lay in a crumpled pile, his sleek coat bloody. I raced over and knelt down beside him. “Oh Mr. Beasley,” I sobbed. I looked him over. His furry face was the only non-mangled part of him. He was hanging on to life by a thread. I gently stroked his ears. I thought I heard a small mew, but I wasn’t sure.
“Oh Beasley, what are we going to do?” I wailed. I was afraid to move him, but I couldn’t leave him there. I had to get him to the vet. I put my hand to his heart hoping for a heartbeat, but I couldn’t feel anything.
“Don’t you die on me, Mr. Beasley,” I begged him. “Don’t you dare die!”
He was my baby; he was the one that made my world right when it was upside down. He was the one that placed his paw in my hand when I cried, and he was the only one who saw me off to sleep at night. He was my only friend.
I was afraid to pick him up, I didn’t want to hurt him anymore, but I had no choice. I gently placed my hands under his limp body. Without any warning, my hands felt as though they were on fire. The heat spread, radiating up my arms and into my chest. My whole body pulsated as fiery energy coursed through me. I glanced down. Had I imagined it? Or had Mr. Beasley just given me one of his winks?
My whole body was humming. I jerked my hands free and held them over his crumpled body. Concentrating on the pulsing sensations, I focused the energy pouring from my body into his mangled little form. Overjoyed, I watched as he began to heal, slowly at first, and then, bit by bit, he seemed to return to normal. He meowed; this time there was no mistaking it. A loud and thankful sound.
He stood up and stretched out his front paws and proceeded to rub against my leg. I leaned back, awestruck. I’d healed Mr. Beasley! I whooped with joy.
Mr. Beasley, having regained his catlike composure, stared at me like I was demented.
I grinned at him. “Sorry Mr. B, just a small human lapse in decorum. I’m just so glad to have you back! Let’s get you home.”
I picked up his fat, furry body, and together we walked home. It was a slow walk—Mr. Beasley was overly fond of sardines, and there was no way to put it politely. He was a bit of a chunk. I adjusted my grip, to make sure I had a secure hold, and he yowled in protest.
“Ungrateful cat,” I said jokingly. I didn’t really mind. I was so happy; he could yowl for the rest of his nine lives if he chose to.
36
“Granna!” I called out.
Mr. Beasley and I went through the front door and into the kitchen. The place was empty, but I knew Granna was here somewhere. The aroma of baked chicken and aromatic herbs filled the room.
“Where is Granna hiding, Mr. B?” I asked as I plopped his weighty body down on the floor beside his food. “Look at that! Granna knew you were coming, she’s filled your cat dish.” Mr. Beasley immediately buried his head in the bowl and began crunching noisily.
Smiling, I turned away and went searching for Granna. I glanced out the kitchen window and
saw her in the garden.
“Granna,” I called through the open window. She looked up and waved.
“I’m just planting some lettuce and beets. I’ll be in shortly, love.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Take your time,” I yelled back.
Perfect, I thought to myself. Now I had a few minutes to figure out how to explain what had just happened. I paced up and down the tiled floor. How to start? “Well, there was this car and…” I stopped, interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.
“Go make noise somewhere else, it’s annoying.”
I looked up. No one was in the room except me and…the cat.
Mr. Beasley? It couldn’t be!
He was clearly irritated. His eyes twitched. “You heard me; I’m trying to eat. Go find the old lady and bug her.”
I stared at him in absolute disbelief. Did I actually hear Beasley’s thoughts? What the heck was going on? Then, another voice hit my radar, this one familiar. Granna. Her soft tones floated through the window. I stopped and listened. Who was Granna talking to?
“That girl, I hope she understands what’s important. When I was her age, I was always full of such worry—anxiety about the future. I don’t want that for her, but I do hope she’s cautious. One can never know when one’s gifts will manifest. I hope it doesn’t require some kind of trouble to rouse them, the way mine did…”
Was Granna talking to herself?
“Hello Emma, how did you get on today?” I spun around in time to see her enter. “I was just getting some gardening in before dinner,” she rattled on. “I was thinking I might make a cream sauce. It will go nicely with the chicken.” She paused when she saw my face. “Is there anything wrong?”
“It’s Mr. Beasley!” I blurted out, “a man ran him over and…”
Granna looked over at Mr. Beasley, still chowing down on his food, and then stared back at me, confused.
The Soul of the Sun (The Argos Dynasty) Page 11
