by C. S Luis
I sat on the bed again and opened the nightstand drawer to take out the picture of my parents and me. This was the last picture we ever took together and the last of them I'd ever have with me. Remembering that fact on top of the realization that I'd just buried my grandfather—my only living family—I stared at the picture of when I had family and sobbed.
I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, the posters scattered across the floor and the jarring picture of my parents made it seem like someone else had been in my room and trashed it instead of me. I sat up on the bed and stared at the walls.
The house felt eerily silent. I wondered then if Mr. McClellan had left me alone and what, if anything, would happen to my grandfather's house now. I hadn't given that much thought, but it concerned me. Would I even have a say in what happened next to what had become my home? If Grandfather had left it to me, I wanted to stay. I'd do anything I could to make that happen.
When I finally stood, I walked toward my bedroom door and listened. I heard the tiny murmur of a man's voice coming from downstairs; Mr. McClellan must have stayed. Slowly, I opened my bedroom door and noticed the door to my grandfather's room was ajar. Without looking inside, I walked down the hall, closed his bedroom door, and headed down the stairs.
Mr. McClellan stood in the kitchen, talking on the phone about some kind of arrangements for a moving truck. It hit me that this meant I was moving—again—but I couldn't just pick up and leave the only ties I had left to any kind of family. Not now.
When he hung up, I rushed into the kitchen. “I won't let you sell my grandfather's house,” I told him. He raised his eyebrows, looking surprised to see me. “This is all I have left of him. You can't sell it!” My voice trembled with anger.
He shook his head. The pots hanging above the kitchen counter rattled for a minute, then a few dropped from their hooks and clattered across the kitchen. Mr. McClellan stepped toward me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Claudia!” he yelled. “Listen.” I gazed up at him, the furious tears already racing down my cheeks. I bit my lip so hard, I tasted blood. “Listen to me. I'm not selling your grandfather's house.”
For a minute, I didn't know what he'd said. But when it sank in, the anger eased in me, and I studied him through my own tear-blurred vision.
“I would never do that,” he added. “Neil left this place for you. This house is yours. It's what he wanted.”
“Then why did you call for a moving truck? Why are we moving? Why are we leaving?”
He frowned in hesitation, and I realized I had it backwards. “You're moving in. Into my grandfather's house. With me.” It came out as almost a whisper.
He nodded. “I thought it would be easier that way. This is your home, and it's the right thing to do. You're only a minor for a little bit longer. I figured I'd pack some things, stay here with you as a guardian, and keep the rest of my stuff in storage until I decide what to do next…” An awkward silence hung between us, then he let go of my shoulders and walked out of the kitchen into the foyer. Taking his keys from the table by the door, he turned back to me and added, “The movers should be at my apartment in a few minutes.”
“Can I just stay here while you're out? I'd rather not go anywhere.”
He opened his mouth, paused, and apparently held back from any objection. I saw a need in him to please, to be accepted by me by any means necessary. Mr. McClellan just nodded instead and opened the door. “I won't be gone long. Keep the door locked.” I think he tried to be firm, but he only reminded me of a gentle bunny. “I have my phone on me. If you need me, please call.” Then he stepped out and left me alone.
I almost regretted staying behind when I took a moment to look around my grandfather's old, empty house. In that moment, it just felt too big. So I ran up the stairs and into my room, dropping onto the bed once again. I just wanted this to end. I wanted to think of something else, but the pain inside me wouldn't allow it. The guilt, if nothing else, was eating me alive.
The guilt came from me knowing I should have listened to him the first time. It rose from not having nearly enough time with him and spending most of it sulking alone in my room. Now the only person who understood me was gone forever.
I was exhausted, but when I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, the tears still wouldn't stop. But even when I finally slipped off to sleep, I dreamed of my grandfather.
He stood there in his office, smiling one moment, then falling to the floor, grabbing at his heart. As his body lay on the ground, a crystal rolled from within his limp fingers and out onto the ground. It just rested there until a pale, bony hand reached down and plucked the crystal from the floor. The man in the black suit and red tie straightened over my grandfather and clutched his prize.
“Grandfather!” The word slipped through my lips, and the man in the black suit whipped around to face me.
He pointed a thin finger at me, just like the first time we'd met. “You. I've been searching for you,” he said. “You're the answer. Come to me.”
He lunged at me across the floor, and I screamed.
Then I shot up in bed and realized it for the awful dream it was. I couldn't make sense of it, and I didn't want to, anyways. Muffled voices rose up from outside, and I went to the window to look down at the front yard. Men in overalls lifted boxes out of a large truck and carried them toward the house, disappearing under me as they stepped through the front door.
Mr. McClellan stood beside the truck, telling the men where to put his things. Of course, he didn't look up at my window to see me gazing down at them. Still so tired, I climbed back up onto my bed and rolled to the side to stare at the picture of my parents and me.
Things were going to change—again. Nothing had ever been normal for me, even when my parents were alive. But at least I had something in common with my father, and I still always felt safe. Now, I had no idea what my future looked like, even though I did actually trust Mr. McClellan. My grandfather had trusted him enough to leave me in his care, and I didn't doubt McClellan was a kindhearted man.
We must have said only two words the first two days he was there. I spent most of my time in my room. I could tell he didn't want to bother me, and sometimes he left my dinner on the hallway table outside my door. Only after the fourth day did I actually decide to come downstairs and join him. He was loading the dishwasher when he turned to see me standing by the kitchen table.
“Claudia.” He offered a nervous smile. “Are you hungry? Can… can I get you something?” The dishes in his hands clanked together before he remembered what he'd been doing.
“No, I'm fine,” I muttered.
He put the plates into the dishwasher and closed it, leaving a few dishes untouched in the sink. Then he approached the table as I took a seat. “I can get you something. I'm sorry. I forgot what time it was.” He put a hand to his head for a minute, then looked back up at me. “I hope this is all right.” I just stared at him and his sad eyes. “I mean me being here. It's what your grandfather wanted. I don't know what he was thinking when he chose me.” A smile spread over his lips, then he looked back at me, and the smile faded. “Not that I don't want to be here, you understand,” he added. “But me? Well, I don't know what I'm doing.” He gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “And I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into this. If it's not what you want, I'm sure something else could be arranged.” He took a deep breath, his eyes drooping, and glanced at the table. “If this isn't what you want.” Slowly, he sank into the chair.
“If my grandfather wanted you to be my guardian, Mr. McClellan,” I said gently, “then I want it too.”
He nodded with a weak smile and said, “Okay. Okay.” After a few seconds, he pushed the chair back from the table and stood. “I made enchiladas,” he added, sounding quite proud of it.
That made me smile. “You cook?”
“Yeah.” He grinned but looked away in embarrassment. “Your grandfather never complained. He was one of my biggest fans.” He chu
ckled, and I realized right then how much he must have missed my grandfather, too. Then he blinked, seemed to remember who he was talking to, and went back to the sink. “Would you like some?” he asked without turning.
“Sure.”
He moved quickly, seeming to really know his way around my grandfather's kitchen. When he set the plate down in front of me, there were tears in his eyes, and he didn't meet my gaze. “They're really good. But I'm not just saying that because…” He drifted off, gave a small smile, and went to wipe down the stove.
He stumbled a little as he bumped into the countertop's corners, hitting his head on the top of the cabinet when he reached for clear under the sink. Watching him, I realized I didn't actually know him at all. I didn't know any of the people in my new life, but now, I found that was something I wanted to do. I'd been too self-absorbed in my own tragedy, I hadn't given anyone a chance.
“You guys were good friends?” We were both aware that I already knew they were close, but I was starting conversation.
“Yes,” he said, turning toward me from the stove. “We were very good friends,” he said, finally looking up at me. Then he frowned.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to make this painful.”
His teary eyes widened with guilt. “Oh, no,” he said. “Don't be.” Then he returned to the table and sat again.
I put down my fork, my lips quivering. “He wanted to talk to me,” I told him, “and I should have listened the first time. I treated him so badly when we met. I'm sorry,” I whispered, trying to swallow my grief. But the tears came anyways.
“You couldn't have known,” Mr. McClellan said.
“I wish we'd had more time. He wanted to tell me something, and he was so excited about it. I should have listened. I should have—” I couldn't hold back the tears any longer.
Mr. McClellan pulled his chair closer to mine and leaned toward me. “How could you have known? You can't blame yourself.”
“I can't help feeling like it was really important. Now it's too late.”
“Claudia, you can't feel this way. He wouldn't have wanted you to feel this way.” Mr. McClellan moved his chair so it nearly touched mine, then brushed the hair away from my face.
I dropped my forehead against his chest and let out a long sigh. But it wasn't enough; the tears came again, and I wept, gripping Mr. McClellan tightly. When I finally calmed down, I whispered, “He was all I had, and now he's gone.”
Mr. McClellan embraced me fully for a short, tight hug, then pulled me away from him and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You have me,” he said. “I made a promise to your grandfather that I would protect you no matter what, and I intend to keep it.” I nodded, sniffed, and wiped my eyes. “Now,” he said, clearing his throat, “enough of that Mister stuff, okay?” He swallowed audibly, released me, and smiled as he furiously blinked his own tears from his eyes. “We don't have to talk about it anymore. Not if you don't want to.”
“Michael,” I whispered, unsure of what his promise to my grandfather really entailed. His words rang with uncertainty. “Protect me from what?”
He blinked at me, as if the question startled him, and sat back in his chair. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, and I got the feeling he'd never told anyone else what he was about to share with me.
“Your grandfather tried to face certain fears of his, but he just couldn't battle them. You know, he lost his mother when he was very young.” I shook my head. My grandfather had hidden that kind of sorrow very well.
“Afterward, Neil found himself wandering the streets alone, not knowing who he was or what had happened. Little by little,” he said, lifting a crystal from his pocket, “it eventually came back to him. This crystal was the only thing he had in his possession, and it helped him remember what had happened.”
“What?”
He held his open palm toward me in invitation, and I gingerly picked up the crystal. It looked like a normal piece of glass, but when I touched it, the sensation was electrifying. It felt like the thing was drawing from me, connecting and linking to me in some strange way. I dropped the crystal into his palm again and pulled my hand back.
Michael didn't respond to my surprise. “A creature abducted his mother,” he answered with a frown. It seemed he didn't know exactly what, only that he repeated to me now the things my grandfather had told him. “When all his memories returned, he tried to go back for her.”
“Where was she?”
“The thing that took his mother could travel through certain doorways into our world and back.” He glanced down at the crystal. “This stone also serves as a doorway into another world.” After turning the crystal over in his hand, he returned it to his pocket.
The whole story had taken on a rather Sci-Fi kind of feel, but I wanted to believe it. I sensed Michael trusted my grandfather enough to believe it, too.
“Needless to say,” he continued, “your grandfather never gave up hope that one day he would find the right key to open this doorway again. But it didn't stop him from having a life. Getting married. Having children.” He tried to smile, but it only looked painful now. “He wanted to tell you all this… before. But of course…”
I had to hear more now. This story made me feel more connected to my grandfather then I had in those few short days we'd spent together—the loneliness he must have felt, isolated in this world without his mother.
“Your grandfather always thought he couldn't have children. That relieved him, because he was afraid to bring someone with the same gift into this world.” I leaned toward him, eyes wide. “When your grandmother was unexpectedly pregnant with your father, Neil's old fear returned. But before your father was born, I watched that fear give way to accepting he would be a father. It was actually the happiest I'd ever seen him. It brought him a new hope that maybe things would be different.” He paused to let out a heavy sigh.
“What happened?” I prompted. Maybe I'd find out why my grandfather and my father hadn't spoken in years—find out what had separated them.
“Martha, your grandmother, died giving birth. Your grandfather was never the same after that.” I looked down at the table, where Michael had put both his hands, and I took his hand for a quick, gentle squeeze. He gazed up at me and smiled. “After that, your grandfather grew far more fearful and distant. A strong paranoia took ahold of him in a way I'd never seen. He thought he was being watched, followed. That something evil stalked him.”
I blinked. I wanted to say, 'He wasn't paranoid,' but I didn't.
“He felt he had only one option when it came to his son. He truly thought it was the right thing to do when he gave your father up for adoption. Neil said it was to protect your father from the evil he feared was coming for him.”
“What?” I said a little more harshly than I meant it. “That doesn't make any sense. That can't be the reason why.”
“I'm sorry, my dear. That's all your grandfather ever said. He loved that boy with all his heart, and I never understood either how he could make such a drastic decision. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was determined it was the only way to protect his son.”
Something had to have really spooked my grandfather. He and I were the same; could he have seen something like I had the day he died? While definitely not what I'd expected, the rift between him and my father made just a little more sense now, too. But my grandfather must have known something else and not told Michael.
“I'm sorry if I frightened you,” Michael added. “I just felt… well, that this is something your grandfather would have told you himself. Now that he's gone… I felt you deserved to know the truth about the man.”
“Thank you.” I nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” This couldn't have been an easy story for him to tell.
“I wish there was more I could tell you about him, but that's all he ever told me about his past. He was quite a lonely person. He missed his family. When you came into his life, you brought that same magic back with you. He was his ol
d self again, if just for a little while. You give him hope…”
Chapter 14:
Milton High in Mourning
Bright and early Monday morning, Michael's black Honda SUV pulled up into the empty space in the teacher's parking lot. He turned off the engine, and I just sat there, looking straight ahead. Neither of us spoke for a while, but then he turned toward me just a little.
I had missed a week of school after my grandfather's funeral, and now I wondered if I was even ready to face the countless whispers and sympathetic stares of so many strangers.
“You don't have to do this now,” Michael said very softly. I looked at him; he was genuinely worried about me. And right now, I knew he would do and say anything if it helped me at all.
“I know, but things aren't going to change.” I smiled back. “I have to come to terms with that.”
“Claudia—”
“I'm all right, okay?” I stared back at him, forcing that smile to stay on my lips.
He nodded with a frown, then said, “But if for any reason you feel—”
“Michael.” I put a hand on his shoulder to get him to stop.
He looked down at my hand, then smiled. “Very well,” he whispered and took a deep breath. “I'm still assisting with principal duties, so if you ever need me, chances are I'll be in the main office. Ms. Witherson is our new English teacher. I moved you into her class. I hope that's okay. The other English teachers have way too many students…”
“It's okay,” I said again. “I can take care of my classes. Please stop worrying.”
“Sorry. All of this is so new to me too.” He glanced out the windshield at Milton's entrance set in the stone building. The school buses started up in the parking lot, pulling out one at a time in a long yellow line to start picking up the students. “I don't want to fail you,” he said, turning toward me again.
