by W.J. May
Chapter 5
Brent
Somehow the sun figured out a way to sneak through my blinds and stab my pillow. At first it didn’t bother me. Half awake, the guitar dream felt too good to be true. Aw! Why couldn’t it be real? When my left hand started tingling, I rolled over. Sunshine clawed its way though my closed eyelids so I rolled over and moved my head into the shade. Ten minutes later the blinding light zapped me again.
Irritated, I flipped onto my back and grabbed the remote on the nightstand. Now my right hand prickled. I must’ve slept on a nerve or something. I pressed the power button and the fifty inch flat screen hanging on my wall and it flickered to life. Much Music had some greaty-eighties videos playing and the satellite info on the top right corner showed just after eleven.
Eyes still fuzzy from sleeping, I got up and staggered into my bathroom to take a leak. Returning to the bedroom, I caught sight of my open guitar case and ran my fingers over the wood of the Hagstrom. A weird flash fogged my vision – I stumbled and caught the back of the chair before I wiped out.
“Weird.” Could I still be dreaming? Nah… I bent down checking my newest baby. If she’d gotten ruined last night outside the mine…didn’t even want to imagine. Nate bitched and complained the entire time in Europe about her bulkiness and me lugging her everywhere we went, but I didn’t give a toss. It probably cost me half my soul to buy, but the Hagstrom was worth every penny.
The case had water damage on the base, but hey, that’s what they’re for. It’s not like I couldn’t get a new one. Finally arriving home in my room last night, I’d immediately opened it, paranoid it’d gotten wet. Then I’d dropped on my bed too exhausted to get up, check it or close the case.
The guitar begged me to stroke her. I slid my thumb across the strings, enjoying the sensation it brought. I strummed a few chords and wrapped my fingers around her neck. No rush, I could play a bit before heading downstairs.
The fingers on both hands vibrated against the Maplewood fretboard and the copper-cound steel strings. I pulled back. A tingling sensation zinged from the tips of my fingers up my length of my arm. Staring at my hand, I blinked. Brushing off the feeling, I leaned forward to play again.
“What the--” Again freaky tremors bounced against my hand and my vision distorted. I tried to focus by squinting, but a shadowy silhouette appeared before me playing my guitar. The guy in the Liverpool shop I’d bought her from said she’d come out of a house on Abbey Road. I hadn’t believed him, but the blurry guy in my vision kind of looked like a young version of Sir McCartney. Okay, my totally overactive imagination is getting the best of me. I’m still dreaming.
Or, Nate was playing tricks on me. Maybe he had some electric trickle wire leading to the guitar. I dropped to the floor in a push-up position, intending to check the wires.
The moment my fingers touched the dark floor, I froze. The hardwood thrummed against my hands, and a clear image of what appeared, suspiciously, flashed in front of my eyes. My folks sat in the brightly sunlit dining room, directly below, having brunch. Dad reading the paper, and Mom checking messages on her iPad.
I stood and staggered backward, rubbing my forehead. Wait a sec---Nate couldn’t have rigged my guitar. He left for UofT last week.
I grabbed a tee shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. I groaned. Ah, hell, Rosetta had ironed them – again. How many times did I have to ask her to take them just out of the dryer? I preferred my pants kinda crinkled. No kid my age ironed his pants. Complaining didn’t help. She’d just start ironing my boxer-briefs and leave smiley-face post it notes. I loved her anyway. She was our housemaid, but part mom at the same time.
Giddy laughter floated up the stairs. Mom reacting to something Dad said. I followed their voices and the smell of freshly cinnamon buns and coffee into the dining area, then shook my head at the moment of déjà vu. Say what? How could I know? I gave my head a slight shake. Nah, it’s just their normal routine. I clenched and unclenched my hands, trying to stop the annoying prickly sensation.
“You’re up.” Dad folded his paper and leaned back in his chair. He wore a suit – strange for a Saturday. “Surprising. You usually don’t show your face till at least noon.”
“How’re you feeling?” Mom ran a finger back and forth along her pearl necklace.
“Fine, I guess.” I shrugged, ignoring Dad’s comment. “My head’s killing me.”
Mom rested a cool hand on the nape of my neck. “You’re a bit warm. Do you think I should phone Dr. Taylor and ask him do a house call?”
Dad harrumphed.
“I’m fine, Mom.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek smelling sweet perfume against her collar. “I probably just need to eat.” I grabbed a croissant, loaded it with ham and cheese and took a huge bite. Tingling seemed to have finally stopped. I settled into the chair across from my father and nodded at him. Mom wore a fancy outfit. Both dressed up? Probably going to one of Dad’s functions.
“I’ve got one of my surveyors coming tomorrow to look at the mine. He’ll run a few tests on the uranium. See if there’s any trace amounts and make sure the mine’s properly closed. That place is a sore spot in this town. I’d like to see it turned into a golf course.” He glanced at Mom. “I’m going to check with the city to see if that’s possible. It’d be the perfect location and I don’t own a course. I’d love to design one.” He pulled his iPad out and began making notes.
Keeping my head down, I rolled my eyes. He wants a golf course? Now he thinks he’s a designer? No worry his son might be full of toxins or who-knows-the-hell-what?
“Nate called this morning.” Mom slipped on her white suit jacket and straightened it. She wiped invisible dirt off the matching white skirt. She always wore white the last day before Labor Day. Said it had to do with some fashion-thing.
“What’d he say?” Nate’d be psyched to hear about last night.
“I told him you spent the night in the mine. He wants you to phone him with all the details.” Mom turned to Dad. “Time to go, honey. The invitation said three o’clock, and it’ll take us an hour to get there.”
Dad sighed. He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “I’d love to have one Sunday with no commitments. What happened to family days?” He pulled his phone out as he followed my mother towards the hallway. “Do you mind driving, dear? I’ll make a few phone calls regarding the possibility of the golf course. If I can’t do it at the mine, I want to find another location now I’ve got it in my head.”
Mom looked at me and winked. “One of your dad’s business partners invited us to his retirement party. I’m not sure what time we’ll be back. It shouldn’t be too late.” She picked her purse off the buffet and slipped it over her shoulder. “Rosetta put a chicken on the rotisserie and there’s salad in the fridge. Don’t forget to call Nate.”
“Okeydokey.” I stood and followed them to the front entrance. Their social obligations always seemed to trump any possibility of having a real conversation with them. “See ya later.” I closed the door and stood there a moment with my hand remaining on the door.
Startled, I jerked away but kept my hand on the heavy, oak door. The weird tingling sensation returned, but with a force that spasmed all the way up to my eyeballs. The door was antique, with lead windows high up on the top, but it felt like my fingers had drilled little holes and gave me perfect vision outside…like a window.
I could see my parents walk outside towards the three-car garage. My dad patted my mom’s ass, which she reciprocated with a playful shove.
“What the fu--,” I mumbled, pulling my hand away. The image disappeared when the pressure of the wood left my fingers. Curious, I raised both hands and tentatively touched the door with the tips of my fingers. The entire yard came into view. The garage door opening, my folks pulling out, disappearing down the drive. I can see through frickin’ doors?
Weird. But while watching outside, I could also see the door in front of me. It took a bit of focussing, but I figured out how to switc
h back and forth -- inside, then outside, then back inside. Keeping one hand on the door, I turned sideways. Now I could see the dining room table, or anywhere else I looked, and still see outside at will.
I could spy on people – hot girls in particular – or play a killer trick on Seth. The possibilities were endless.
“This is so F’in’ cool!” I shouted to the empty house. No need to swear with no one to hear me. My head pounded. Shouting wasn’t a smart idea. Suddenly my brain hurt like a son of a bitch. Even my eyes ached like they had weights on them.
I need my phone. It took everything I had to trudge up the stairs. Light headed and dizzy I clung to the railing and tried to ignore the tingling feeling now spreading to my feet.
Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I dropped to the floor when I made it past the last step. Crawling towards the stand beside my bed, I grew nauseous from the see-through floor because of my fingers and trying to find my way through my foggy eyes. When I reached my bed, it took everything in me not to hurl.
Still on all fours and my forehead pressed against the floor, I reached on top of the stand and let my hand find my Blackberry. Blowing a hard breath from my lips, I gingerly sat up and leaned against the bed.
Eyes open in slits, I sent Seth and Zoe a text. Zoe and I had been great buds since preschool. Too bad I didn’t have the courage to tell her I wouldn’t mind being something more. Last night I’d hoped to ask her out. Except she’d been googling over the new guy, and then the thunderstorm screwed everything up. At least I have this wicked cool touchy-thing to make up for it. My thumbs found the keys and I didn’t even need to look at the screen.
Meet 2nite. 7pm PHP Have something cool 2 show u
I wanted to try the touch-feely thing outside. See what happens when I put my hand on the grass. I pushed myself up and leaned against the bed. It took several deep breaths top stop the room from the spinning. Walking like a drunk bum I made it past my door and down the hall.
Then my brain decided to spin the house like a tornado. I pressed my fingers against my temple and buried my head into my palms. Another sensation pushed into my conscience – like Dorothy’s house in the Wizard of Oz.
I realized what was happening – a second too late.
