"Come, Katie, please," GM said, her voice low and pleading. "You know the past is difficult for me."
I resigned myself and took GM's hand.
We went up to my room.
GM switched on the light. The lamp by my bed had a faded shade with yellow sunbursts on it. I'd kept it for years, refusing a new one when GM had wanted to redecorate. For some reason, the old shade reminded me of my mother.
GM smoothed back the quilt on my bed. "Let me tuck you in." She sounded sad and tired.
After I had settled under the covers, GM sat down beside me.
"I will tell you something I have never told you before, Katie. The night your mother died—" GM's voice quavered and she stopped.
I was instantly alert. GM never talked about my mother's death.
I watched as GM's face worked. She was struggling with something within. Eventually, she overcame it, and her expression settled into composed lines.
"The night your mother died was the worst of all – for the fever, I mean. It had raged through her body, and she had reached a point at which she could no longer find comfort of any kind. She couldn't eat or drink; she couldn't sleep. She couldn't even close her eyes for more than a few moments to rest. She said closing them made the burning behind them worse. On that last night, she kept calling for your father, and of course, your poor father was already gone. She was crying out for him to protect you. Even in her delirium, she knew she wouldn't last long."
GM paused again. Her chin had begun to tremble.
Tears were stinging my eyes. It was hard for me to think of my mother wracked with pain and tormented by fear.
GM went on in a low voice. "When I could make her understand who I was – when I could make her understand that I was her mother – she begged me to protect you. She said, 'Swear to me that you will always protect Katie.' She need hardly have asked for that – the desire to protect you had been in my heart since the day you were born. But I swore it to her then, and I swear it to you now. On my life, I will always protect you."
GM stared at me steadily as she said the words, and the tears in my eyes began to sting even more fiercely. Soon they began to fall. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold them back.
GM put her arms around me and pressed my head to her heart. I could hear its steady beating.
"After I made my promise," GM said, her tone unsteady, "Nadya seemed to grow calmer. She asked to see you. I brought you in, and she kissed you on the forehead. You were sleeping and didn't wake. Then she sang her favorite piece of music – no words, just a vowel sound. Do you remember it?"
I nodded weakly. When I was a young child, my mother had often sung the same melody to me. It was from a piece of music by Mussorgsky.
GM went on. "Not long after she finished singing, Nadya was gone. I swore I would protect you, and I have. And I will. That's why I moved you out of the old village. That's why I moved you out of Russia. I had to get you as far away as I could from people like Galina. She is a good woman, but her thinking is trapped in the Dark Ages. She would warp your mind as she warped your mother's. She has nothing for you but superstition and shadows."
GM rose. She stood looking at me with uncharacteristic tears streaming down her face. "I love you, Katie. Believe me when I say there is nothing out there. There is nothing in the dark."
She pressed a kiss to my forehead, as she said my mother had once done, and departed.
I was left feeling less comforted, rather than more so. I was grateful to hear a story about my mother, even though it was painful. I could feel my mother's love and concern reaching out to me across the years. But as I had feared, GM had ultimately answered none of my questions and had actually left me with more.
Why had GM said there was nothing in the dark?
What was it that GM was afraid of?
Chapter 2.
I was awakened in the morning by the harsh, persistent beep of my alarm. After I shut it off, I sat up and brushed my hair away from my face. My dreams were still fogging my mind. And there had been something in them – the same strange longing that called to me every night now. This was the first time I had felt it in my sleep.
I frowned. There was something else that was different.
There had been a presence – a shadow of a figure.
Someone had invaded my dreams. I was sure of it.
I shook my head. That was a crazy way to think. I forced myself to think of school. I still had my quiz in English. And I would see Simon. Just being around him always helped to calm my nerves.
I got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. I was feeling tired after my too eventful night. My eyes were burning, and they felt puffy, probably because of the crying I'd done last night, and I swayed around dizzily as I reached the bathroom and switched on the light.
I turned on the tap in the sink, letting the water run, and splashed my face several times with cold water. I'd hoped the water would make me feel more awake, but instead it just made me shiver, and the water as it streamed down the drain sounded unnaturally loud.
I placed my hands on either side of the sink and let my head fall forward, my hair swinging down on either side of my face like a curtain. I took a few deep breaths.
After a moment, I felt better, and I swept my hair back with one hand and looked into the mirror.
My face was a little paler than usual, but I really didn't look too bad. I pressed a hand to my forehead and then to my cheek. My skin was cool. I was pretty sure I wasn't sick. That was reassuring at least.
My eyes looked just a little puffy, and as I leaned closer to examine them, I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. Some instinct made me turn around quickly, but there was nothing behind me but a towel rack.
I dismissed the flicker as a trick played by my tired eyes. I turned back to the mirror.
As I leaned close to the mirror again, I saw another flicker of movement. This time the flicker grew and coalesced into a dark shadow as tall as a man. I blinked several times and squinted at the shadow in the mirror. It was definitely standing behind me. I felt a brief stab of alarm as I turned and looked over my shoulder.
As before, nothing was there.
I turned back to the mirror. The shadow was still there. I leaned closer. The shadow began to grow thicker and more substantial. Suddenly, there was a man standing behind me. I could see him quite clearly over my shoulder – black hair, blue eyes, a handsome face set into harsh lines. The look in his eyes was dangerous.
A flash of panic ran through me, and I spun around, bracing my hands behind me on the sink.
No one was there.
I hurried out of the bathroom.
I ran down the hall, intending to find GM, but I stopped myself at the top of the stairs. If I told GM that I was seeing things in the mirror, she would say that I was letting my mind play tricks on me after all the strange things the visitors had said last night. Would GM be right about that? I decided I was being silly. I took a deep breath and went back to the bathroom.
Warily, I peered into the mirror. The glass reflected only my own face and the towel rack behind me. I leaned closer to the mirror, keeping my eyes fixed on the area over my shoulder. Several long moments passed. Nothing strange appeared in the mirror – no shadow, no man's face.
I straightened up in relief. I had been imagining things. What was wrong with me lately? I knew I had to hurry or I would be late. I quickly showered and dressed.
As I ran downstairs, I could smell cinnamon and sugar. I wondered what was going on. GM didn't usually approve of sweets.
I saw as I entered the kitchen that all traces of the confrontation from the night before had been swept away. GM was busy buttering two slices of bread on a plate. In the center of the table was a freshly baked loaf of bread. There were golden-brown swirls in the cut section of the bread with little black specks dotting the swirls.
I couldn't help smiling. GM had made cinnamon-raisin bread. I was addicted to it – when I could
get it.
GM looked up at me. Sadness and anxiety flickered in her eyes. She clearly felt bad about the scene with the visitors last night and was trying to make up for it. I felt a rush of love for her – I knew she was always trying to do what was best for me.
I was sure now, too, that not mentioning the strange man I'd seen in the mirror was the right thing to do – I didn't want GM to feel any worse.
I walked around the table and gave GM a hug.
"Good morning, Solnyshko," GM said. Solnyshko was her pet name for me – a Russian endearment meaning 'little sun.' "Did you sleep well?"
Pushing all my fears aside, I smiled brightly. "Yes, thanks. How about you?"
GM relaxed visibly. "Of course." She waved the knife she held in a gesture of bravado. "It is hard to disturb a mind like mine."
I leaned closer to the table to inhale the aroma from the bread. "I see you were busy last night after I went to bed. Did you make this for me?"
"Can there be any doubt?" GM asked gruffly, pushing the plate of buttered bread toward me. "I knew it was your favorite."
"Thanks, GM." I sat down at the table.
"I will pour you a glass of milk," GM announced firmly. "I know you usually drink orange juice, but orange juice is no good with cinnamon raisin."
The milk soon appeared by my plate.
For her part, GM sat down and began cutting off two slices for herself. Then she began poking raisins out of the bread with her knife. GM had a strong aversion to raisins. She only kept them in the house for me.
I reached for my glass, and as I did so, an image flashed before me of the man from the mirror. I pulled my hand back, alarmed.
GM looked up at me. "Is something wrong?"
"I-I – it's nothing."
"Are you sure?" GM asked, frowning. "You looked frightened just now."
I took a deep breath and tried to appear normal.
"It's really nothing," I said. I couldn't tell her what I'd seen – or what I'd imagined I'd seen.
I finished up breakfast quickly, putting my dishes in the dishwasher, and gave GM a peck on the cheek. "Thanks again."
I hurried to pull on my coat and backpack. Then I was out the door.
It was early October, just past my 16th birthday, and there was a definite chill in the air. I walked down the driveway past GM's bright red sports car, and against my better judgment, I paused and looked into the side mirror. A black spot quickly began to appear over my shoulder. Soon the spot spread and evened out, revealing a man's face – dark hair, light eyes, sharply defined features.
I cried out and spun around. No one was standing behind me. I looked back at the mirror.
The man's face was gone.
I was definitely cracking up.
I hurried down the driveway and turned onto the sidewalk to begin the walk to school.
I told myself not to panic. Turn back into normal Katie, I told myself. Turn back into normal Katie. What would normal Katie think of?
I thought of the quiz in English – which I hadn't studied for as much as I would have liked, thanks to the distracting night calling. And then there had been my troubled and insufficient sleep – that wasn't going to help my performance on the quiz, either. Of course, Simon would say that I wouldn't need sleeping or studying in order to do well on a quiz. He really was a good friend.
I felt a sudden strange tug on my heart as I thought of Simon. Was there something wrong between the two of us? I had a feeling that there was – but what it was exactly, I couldn't pin down.
I hurried on to school, feeling my spirits sinking steadily.
As I neared the fence that surrounded Elspeth's Grove High School, I spotted an African-American girl sitting on a picnic table, talking to a tall, Caucasian boy with unkempt brown hair.
I smiled when I saw them, and the girl noticed me and waved. I was glad to see my friends, Charisse Graebel and Branden McKenna. The sight of them made me feel normal again. Somehow the two of them and crazy visions in mirrors didn't seem to belong to the same world.
I hurried into the schoolyard and walked up to them.
"Hey, Charisse. Hey, Branden."
"Happy Monday," Branden replied gloomily. "Welcome to the beginning of our prison sentence for the week."
"Ignore him, Katie," Charisse said. "Are you ready for the quiz in English?"
I sighed heavily. "Don't remind me. I'm really not ready for it today."
Charisse smiled. "Don't worry, over-achiever. I'm sure you'll be fine."
A false note in Charisse's voice caught my attention, and I looked at her sharply. Her tone was superficially cheerful, and her smile was as bright was ever, but there was an unusual distance in her eyes. I could tell Charisse's mind was elsewhere.
Branden groaned. "The quiz. I forgot all about it. I'd better get going."
Reluctantly, he picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.
Charisse looked up at him in surprise. "Where are you going?"
Branden was rueful. "Katie may be able to get by on a quiz any time, but I can't. I haven't even read the play, yet. I'm going to get some reading done – someplace where there are fewer distractions. I can't study while you're around, gorgeous."
Charisse stood up to kiss him on the cheek. "Okay. I'll see you in first period."
Branden returned the kiss on her forehead and loped away across the yard toward the school.
"You guys didn't talk about the quiz this weekend?" I asked.
"No," Charisse replied dreamily. "We were talking about other things."
"You know," I said, "sometimes you two are horrifyingly cute together."
"Some people think you and Simon are pretty cute together, too."
I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. "Simon and I are friends. Close friends. But still friends. You know that."
"I know he likes you. And I think you like him, too. You just haven't admitted that to yourself, yet, Katie."
I felt a strong tug on my heart and an even stronger desire to end this line of conversation. I glanced at Charisse's face. The preoccupation was still there.
"Charisse, is something wrong?"
Charisse looked down at her hands. "No. And that's the problem."
I was instantly alert. "What do you mean?"
"It's my parents. They've split up."
"What?" I said. My shock was as great as if Charisse had just thrown a glass of cold water in my face.
She sighed. The sound was more wistful than anything else. "They're getting a divorce."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Charisse," I said. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
Charisse gave me an odd little smile. "Yes, I am."
"Well, what happened?" I asked.
Charisse sighed again and shrugged. "In a way, it was nothing out of the ordinary – my parents have always argued. Stubborn, you know. Neither one of them ever backs down. But you know about that already."
I nodded. I did know that her household was pretty contentious. I had witnessed it myself. It was nothing really scary – shouting, slammed doors, passive aggressive comments – but it was contentious nonetheless.
Charisse continued. "So, after yet another argument, my dad left last night. He went to stay at our vacation cottage until he can find an apartment. My mom and I are going to stay at the house."
"I'm sorry, Charisse. This must be killing you."
Charisse looked up at the sky. "That's the weird part. I'm okay with it. My parents have been fighting my whole life. I think they'll be better off apart, actually. But people are supposed to be devastated when their parents break up. And I'm not. I have to wonder if something's wrong with me. I don't even really want to talk about it. But I did want you to be the first to know that it happened – you're my best friend."
I was surprised by her answer, but at the same time, I wanted to be supportive.
I gave her a hug. "You have a right to your feelings – whatever they a
re," I said.
But all the same I was worried.
I glanced up and caught sight of a familiar blond head pushing determinedly through a crowd that had formed nearby.
It was Simon. His pale brows were drawn together, and his expression was stormy.
Charisse looked up at him as he approached. "Wow. Simon does not look happy. Did you guys have a fight or something?"
"Charisse, of course not. And you know we're just friends." But I had had a feeling earlier that something was wrong with Simon. It seemed as though I had been right.
Simon marched up to us. He glanced at Charisse and gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Hey."
He turned to me and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, hunching his shoulders. "Can we talk? Alone?"
I glanced uncertainly at Charisse. "Will you be okay?"
Charisse smiled. "Of course. Like I said, amazingly, I'm all right with it all. I'll see you in English class."
Simon waited with his head bowed while Charisse walked away.
When she was gone, he raised his face to mine – it was a mask of misery.
Something was really bothering him.
"Simon?" I prompted.
"It's my brother, James," he said abruptly. "He did something wrong last night. Really wrong. This time, he's going to jail."
I was startled. "I know he gets in trouble a lot, but jail?"
Simon nodded grimly. A muscle in his temple worked as he clenched his jaw. "It's bad. It's as bad as it can be. The cops came to the house last night, looking for him. My parents ordered me to go to my room and stay there. I couldn't hear everything, but I heard enough."
Simon stopped and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. He went on in a low voice.
"Somebody robbed a liquor store last night and shot the cashier. The police think it was James."
Cold fear washed over me. "He shot the cashier? He didn't—"
I stopped suddenly. I didn't want to finish my question. I was afraid of what the answer would be."
Simon smiled bitterly. "Did he kill the cashier? No. The cashier is in the hospital in stable condition. They think he'll be okay. Which doesn't change the fact that James shot somebody."
Pure (Book 1, Pure Series) Page 2
