by R. M. Webb
There are parts of my life that you don’t know about.
She basically told me she was being shady last night. Maybe this explains Carter’s existence in Becca’s life. I’ll be honest, Becca being wrapped up in some magical plot to keep me away from my source of power makes way more sense than Becca ever finding anything in Carter to keep her attention as long as he has. But if Carter’s in on all this, that means maybe Luke’s in on it, too. That thought is like looking at a painting you just completed and realizing you’ve done it all wrong. All that hope and positivity crushed by disappointment. I like being with Luke and I thought he liked being with me. Hell, I want him to love being with me. I want to mean something to him. But if he’s just with me because of whatever Becca’s doing…
I can’t even finish that thought, it makes me feel so very tired.
Oh, God! Is this why Becca hated Noah from the minute she met him, even though he made me feel so amazing? Maybe Noah didn’t have it out for me the way she said he did, maybe it was Becca who had it out for me the whole time instead. But that feels wrong, too. If she wanted to do me harm, then why in the world would she spend almost every waking minute of her life with me?
I gather my things and clutch my journal to my chest. The protein bar is jumping around in my stomach and all I want to do is go home, but I’m not ready to be even halfway normal around Becca. I’ve never kept one ounce of my life from her, not one secret held between us in all of our years together. I don’t know if I can school my face into something that doesn’t look like confused terror yet.
I guess that leaves Luke. He might be in on it. Hell, he probably is in on it. I guess it says a lot that I’m ready to believe in strange visions and conspiracies that focus on keeping some cryptic ‘source of my power’ asleep rather than the more obvious explanation that I’m truly and finally losing my mind. Whatever. I’m going to Luke’s. And when I get there, I’m going to make him explain just exactly what’s going on.
Chapter 13
I set off on my mad march to Luke’s house, busy feeling strong and filled with purpose. It only takes a few blocks of my frenzied, crazy-lady walk before I start to slow down, the wind totally slipping out of my sails. First I start to shake, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m just that upset about what happened at the park or because I’m in the middle of a panic attack that induced hallucinations and conspiracy theories. But I need to get control of myself because for one, I’m standing on a sidewalk out in public and even though I do tend to be invisible, I think having some kind of fit on a street corner will be the first step to being seen. But for two, now is not the time to get all weak and fluttery.
I’ve spent my whole life hiding from things, either by letting Becca handle the brunt of the heavy lifting or by simply ignoring them and removing myself from situations that made me uncomfortable. I’ve got to grow up and face the hard shit. Right now, I’m all I’ve got — unless you count sparkly ghost vision Noah — and I can’t afford to let myself down.
Marching up to Luke’s place, banging on the door and demanding answers sure seems like a good idea … well … ok. It seems like something that’d feel good. But I don’t think that means it’s a good idea. Let’s say that he’s in on this whole ‘hide Zoe from herself’ deal. He’s not going to spill the beans just because I ask. I’m going to have to be more suave about this.
Ya. Right. Suave.
‘Cause I totally rock smooth, manipulative conversation. I mean, that’s where I really shine. I lean against the side of a building — I think it’s the movie theater — and watch the cars zipping through the street while I run my shaking hands through my hair. Let’s really think this through. Assuming that the conversation I just had with Noah actually happened and I’m not totally losing my mind, I think it’s pretty easy to deduce that Luke is part of whatever it is that Becca has going on. I said it before. Luke’s in on it. That’s the only way to explain Carter’s continued presence in Becca’s life.
So what do I do? They’re all going to start wondering why I’m not home yet and I don’t really have a very long time before they start looking for me. Going to Luke’s is a really bad idea. Maybe for another kind of girl, the kind who knows how to say what she means, or better yet, the kind who knows how to dance around saying what she means, you know, on purpose. Not like me where I just mutter some words bordering on incoherent, but like, a real conversational mastermind. Anyway, maybe that kind of girl could stomp over to Luke’s house and get some answers to some questions. Not me. Not this girl. He’d know something was up with me the minute I stepped onto his front porch.
Maybe the best bet is to just go home and pretend I’m sick. Lock myself into my room and pull the covers up to my chin and disappear for a few days. That sounds like the best idea I’ve had yet. I push off the wall and start shuffling my way home. I’m in no real hurry to get there and I’ll be honest, there’s a piece of me that wants to hop in my car and drive home home. You know, like home to my mom. Just turn tail and run away. But I’m not going to do that. At least, I don’t think I’m going to do that.
My mind is busy trying to unravel the things ghost-Noah said to me. (I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a ghost, but words like ‘vision’ and ‘magic’ just don’t exactly feel comfortable. Somehow ‘ghost’ feels one step closer to possible.) Anyway, he said I need to wake up, to find the source of my power. What in the holy hell did he mean? Did he mean I’m actually asleep? Like all of this is a bad dream? Or maybe he wasn’t being literal and he meant I needed to find that internal nudging, that feeling I used to get that would make me want to do things that made me uncomfortable…
That’s got to be what he means. He said I needed to find the source of my power. Could he mean the tiger? How could he even know about that?
Somehow I’m cold even though the day is still so hot. So cold I’ve got goosebumps. I pause and wrap my arms around my stomach, hugging my elbows and rubbing my hands up and down my arms. A girl walks towards me. She kind of stops and stares, cocking her head to her shoulder as if she’s questioning or listening or not quite sure what she sees.
“Can you see me?” Her voice is both in my head and around my head and comes out of her mouth all laggy and whispery. Distorted and stretched. Her eyes are the wrong color but I don’t know how to explain why. They’re empty and endless. And then she poofs out of existence, vapors leeching away from where she’d just stood, as a herd of freshmen boys walk through the spot she’d just occupied.
One of them bumps against my shoulder and I’m so off balance I stumble back and hit the ground hard enough for my teeth to clack together. Pain shoots up from my tailbone to my head, from my wrists to my elbows. The pavement scrapes the skin on the palms of my hands.
“Damn girl, watch where you’re going.” The guy doesn’t even offer me a hand, just steps around me and turns to his friends. “Bitch came out of nowhere.” They laugh and it’s ugly and I think I might throw up.
Part of me really just wants to curl up in a ball on the sidewalk because seriously, this is all too much to handle. But considering the fact that apparently I’m really hard to see, I might end up getting trampled. With no small amount of effort, I peel myself up from the ground and start staggering my way home. I know that sounds like maybe I’m exaggerating, but I don’t think I am. It’s like my brain is only giving half—commands to my body and my legs feel like jelly. It’s a miracle I make it home at all, but I do.
Becca’s on the couch when I lurch through the living room, teetering around like Bambi on ice. Her eyebrows hit her hairline and she bounces to her feet. “You ok?” She’s across the living room and at my side before I can answer. I mutter something about not feeling good, which honestly, at this very moment is way more true than I expected it to be. I can’t quite get that girl with the empty eyes and the everywhere voice out of my head.
Becca’s jabbering away, her hands on my arms and shoulders, her voice all maternal and worried and I realize exactly
what that girl was. She was a ghost. Oh, God. Or maybe she was a demon. Those eyes…
My stomach spins in a violent circle and my little cover story is suddenly very true. I race to the bathroom, leaving Becca looking somewhat confused and concerned near the door and throw up bits of strawberry flavored protein bar into the toilet. When that’s gone, my stomach is still not appeased because I keep heaving until this awful yellow bile comes out, squeezing hot tears out of my eyes along with it. I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth. Splash water on my face and check myself in the mirror.
For a second, I consider changing into pj’s, but that might require more out of me than I have to give, so I just curl up in bed and pull the covers up to my ears and squeeze my eyes shut. Sleep isn’t going to come, though. That’s for damn sure.
You gotta wake up.
What does that even mean? And if waking up means that I’m going to see more girls like the one I saw on the sidewalk today, I’m not so sure I want to do that. I might want to forget ghost-Noah and all the crazy things he said, forget the demon girl and just go back to hanging out with Luke and Becca and Carter and spend my time playing video games. Is that an option? Can I do that? I promise I’ll never question Carter’s ability to make Becca happy again.
I can’t help it, thinking of Carter makes me think of the day Becca and I met him at Flannigan’s. The day I met Luke. The night with so many holes in it. They say I was shit-faced drunk that night, but that’s so out of character for me, so out of my comfort zone. If I’m honest, and I guess I’m in the middle of being like, way crazy honest right now, I don’t think I would have let myself get that drunk. Sure, Luke makes me feel comfortable and safe, but there’s not been one time in my whole life that I ever felt comfortable enough to drink so much that I blacked out. And apparently that’s exactly what happened.
I remember meeting Luke. I think we played pool. The rest is just … gone. So, this new Zoe who sees ghost-Noahs and demon girls, this new Zoe who gets really honest, she has to wonder if maybe, instead of drinking too much, maybe they did something to my memory. Is that even possible?
A single thought has my eyes lurching open. Oh hell, my journal! Where is it? I had it at the park, but I don’t remember carrying it home. Was it in my hands when that guy knocked me down? I distinctly remember both of my hands hitting the concrete — even have the scrapes to prove it, but I’m not sure if I dropped it to catch myself or if I left it by the tree.
Shit.
I don’t think I wrote anything important in it about what’s happening today, but that’s my journal. The one place I totally don’t censor myself. The thought of someone finding it and reading it makes my poor sick stomach start reeling again. My head hurts.
There’s no way I could get past Becca so I can go back out and see if I can find it. She either believes that I’m sick and she’ll push me back into bed or she’ll wonder why I’m suddenly not sick and she’ll … I don’t know. Cast a spell or something.
‘Cause that’s what’s going on.
There are spells and magic and demons or ghosts and who the hell knows what else.
Well, I bet Becca knows what else. And Noah. And I bet Carter. And probably Luke. Looks like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what else. Poor Zoe, last one on the train as usual.
Becca’s moving around the living room and I can tell she’s trying to be quiet. I slide out of bed and creep to the door, trying to hear what’s going on. I think she’s on the phone, although I can’t make out what she’s saying. Maybe if I close my eyes and concentrate, I’ll catch more of the conversation. So I do just that, blocking out my room and focusing on her voice. I start to hear a word here and there and there’s this kind of stretching feeling and just like that, I can hear everything Becca says as if she were standing next to me and enough of what the person on the other end is saying to know she’s talking to Carter.
“Did you get the journal?” Becca pauses long enough for Carter to make a noise of affirmation. “Did you read it? Is there anything important in there?”
I kind of choke while Carter replies, fear becoming a tangible thing and lodging itself in my throat.
“What?” Becca’s voice is violent. “What do you mean you think she saw a remnant?” No, not violent. Becca’s voice reminds me of a snake, hissing its warning from the grass. I focus hard on Carter’s voice, hoping and wishing, demanding that I hear his reply. There’s no doubt in my mind about what a remnant actually is; Becca’s talking about the demon girl. Carter’s answer might have some information as to just exactly what she was.
“Hold on.” That’s Becca again, interrupting Carter before he gets more than a few words out. “Shit. I swear I just felt magic. Her magic. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you when I know more.”
There’s a click, the sound of her fingernail making contact with the screen of her phone and I open my eyes. Becca is stalking towards my bedroom door, aware that I was eavesdropping, or at least suspicious that I was. I leap back into bed and throw the cover over my head and pray to as many gods as I can think of that she doesn’t come throw open the door and confront me.
Something tells me I won’t be that lucky.
Chapter 14
My doorknob spins and the door creaks open and the fact that it’s so much like a horror movie might have made me giggle if I wasn’t absolutely terrified of making noise. Becca slinks through and closes the door behind her. She swoops down over me, wearing an aura of dread and discomfort, and wipes hair out of my eyes. Fear has my forehead clammy, so at least if she still kind of thinks I might be sick, she’s got physical evidence that might support that theory.
When she touches me, there’s this explosion of energy that sweeps across my skin, skittering like electricity over a lightning strike, like hundreds of spiders crawling on my face and neck and arms. “Zo?” Becca’s voice falls to my ears, clouds of purple and black and heavy with power. “Are you asleep?”
I can tell that she’s very much aware that I’m not asleep. But as she speaks, my eyes grow heavy, little pulses of fatigue edging out from her fingers, seeping into my skin. Something inside me flares to life and goes to work putting out the little fires of drowsy that Becca is leaving for me.
“Nope.” I murmur the word and hope I sound sleepy, hope she can’t hear my heart jackhammering against my ribs. “Wish I was, though.” And that’s not a lie. I totally wish I was unconscious right now.
“You feeling ok?” No, I’m not feeling ok. I’m terrified and something icky is worming its way from Becca’s hand into me. I just shake my head and bury my face in my pillow. “Well, look sweetie. I’m going to go out and meet Carter. I’ll tell Luke that you’re sick. You need anything?”
Whatever Becca’s doing, she’s probing into my head, there’s this little questioning push, this seeking, sifting, sorting feeling. And again, something inside me flares to life, shielding my thoughts and feelings from her. I don’t know if she can tell what’s happening, what I’m doing. She totally felt the last bit of magic I did. (Oh my God! Magic? Is that really what’s going on? Magic?)
I’m in so far over my head and out of my comfort zone, I don’t know what to do.
“You need me to bring you a drink of water before I go?”
No. I just need you to go. Leave me be so I can think. Or run. Maybe that’s the thing. As soon as her Jeep is out of sight, I could just hop in my car and drive as far as I possibly can and not stop until I’ve even managed to lose myself.
“No, thank you.” I twist on the pillow so I can make eye contact with her and really wish I hadn’t. I kind of shrink from the darkness in her eyes. “I think I just need to sleep.”
“Alright, well, I brought your cell phone. I’ll put it here on the table beside the bed. You just text me if you need anything, k?” I nod and close my eyes and slow down my breathing, doing my best attempt at looking and sounding like I’ve fallen asleep. Becca slides my phone onto the table and glides out of the room, lightly closing
the door behind her. I wait to hear her leave, but instead, I feel another pop of power.
The edges of the door, the cracks where it sits in the wall, glow faintly purple and I get the sense of fog or smoke rolling into my room. There’s another pop. Another flare. Another burst of power and Becca raps her knuckles against my door.
“Sleep tight, Zoe.” Her tone tells me she totally knows I’m awake and listening. Regardless, I stay tucked tight into my bed, afraid to touch my door because of whatever it is she’s done to it. The front door slams shut and her Jeep roars to life.
Curiosity gets the better of my fear and I slide out of bed and slink towards the door, half expecting to get blasted by some crazy lightning bolt or something when I get close. When that doesn’t happen, I wait and try to see if I get a sense of wrongness or something like that from it, just kind of let my hands rove the door without touching it, as if I could feel whatever it is she did. When I don’t get any kind of bad feeling from that, I press one finger to the pressed wood and immediately pull it back, checking it for damage. Ok. Still standing. No crazy, super bad magic traps.
The doorknob is kind of warm against my hand. It also completely refuses to budge when I give it a twist. You know how when a door is locked, you can kind of jiggle the door knob? There’s this slight movement while the mechanism strikes whatever it is that keeps the handle from turning? Ya. That’s not happening. The door knob might as well have been sculpted from the same wood the door’s made out of. It’s one hundred percent immobile. I run to the windows and try to open them. Nothing. I knock on the glass and there isn’t even a reverberation; they’re solid. Same goes for the door that leads from my room to the bathroom.
It wasn’t a trap. I am trapped.
