The Year of the Great Seventh

by Orts, Teresa

  I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. Common sense was telling me I was in danger, that I had to run away, but there was something stopping me from moving.

  “Nate, what’s happening?” The words echoed eerily back at me.

  I didn’t know what to do. Sooner or later, people were going to realize something was happening to him. I had to get him out of here.

  We stood across from each other, Nate totally paralyzed, his hands still balled into fists.

  “Nate!” I repeated, trying to bring him back from his trance.

  Something was telling me I had to leave. It was too obvious to ignore. Somehow I knew time was running out. It was as if someone was whispering into my ear, Sophie, if you want to live past tonight, you have to leave now. There’s no time to save Nate.

  Nate’s face seemed to be swelling, and some strange grayish veins spread through his cheeks and temples. Ignoring my warning thoughts, I slowly moved my hand to touch Nate’s. Maybe I could make him come back to his senses. The moment my hand made contact with his arm, in a brisk move, Nate clenched my wrist.

  “Nate, you’re hurting me,” I called out, trying to free myself from him, but he didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes were frozen open.

  He clenched his hand harder and harder, until I began feeling his fingers carving through my skin. He was pressing so hard I thought my bones were going to snap. How could anyone be that strong?

  I twisted in agony, hoping he would let go. The pain was so intense that the room began closing in on me. The music and the people’s roaring seemed to go mute. We seemed to be the central characters of a play. The movement, the noise, was all part of the background. It was as if our world came to a halt and we were center stage under the spotlights.

  Nate suddenly let go of me.

  He began gasping really hard. His shoulders heaved with each breath. It was as if he battled with himself.

  “Walk. Away. Slowly. Don’t look back,” he managed to say, looking right through me. His arms still stretched at his sides, his hands balled into fists.

  For some strange reason, I clearly heard his voice over the loud music. Inexplicably, his words seemed only audible to me.

  I knew there was something wrong and I had to leave this place as soon as possible, but all I could do was stare into Nate’s milky eyes. I forced myself to look down and step away.

  “Ammateus.”

  This time I heard it perfectly clear. I could feel Nate’s penetrating eyes still on my back.

  I squeezed through the people to get out of there, but there was something inside me, urging me desperately to peer back at Nate. I just needed to look back at him one last time, even though I knew it was going to be a fatal mistake. I could still picture him standing still in the middle of the dancing floor, staring at me.

  Suddenly, the massive speakers started producing a sharp beep that penetrated into my brain. It was so high it made me feel as if my brain was going to burst. I plugged my ears and saw everyone else around me doing the same. I had no idea how, but I knew Nate was doing it.

  As I managed to reach the door, I heard an explosion. The high-pitched noise had probably cracked the tanks’ glass. Then I saw the water from the fish tanks propelling onto the street; people running and crawling from the bar were totally drenched and in tears.

  I didn’t understanding why, but I knew I had to start running if I wanted to live past tonight. Without looking back to check whether Nate had made it out before the explosion, I started running as fast as I could down Sunset Boulevard.

  I couldn’t understand what happened in there. Nate’s frightening face was engraved in the back of my mind. For some reason, I knew I was still in danger, but I couldn’t help wondering what happened to Nate in there. Had he managed to get out?

  Police sirens resonated inside my head. I could see people turning to look at me as I ran past them. But they were only a blur of faces.

  When I got to the corner of Sweetzer Avenue, I stopped to catch my breath, and that’s when it hit me. I began blubbering inconsolably. I became aware of how close it had been this time.

  There was a taxi waiting for the light to change. The taxi driver rolled down the window. “Do you need a ride home, kid?”

  I nodded in between tears, unable to utter a word, and jumped into the cab.

  “What happened in there? What happened in there?” I kept repeating to myself. I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t believe it, even though I witnessed it with my own eyes.

  I could see the ambulances heading toward Sunset Boulevard, making me wonder whether something terrible happened to Nate.

  Fumbling through the stuff inside my purse, I grabbed my cell and dialed Nate’s number. Closing my eyes and holding my breath, I wished with all my will that he pick up the phone. My heart hammered inside my chest with each ring. One after the other. Eternal silence filled the other end of the line. And finally, after the seventh ring, it went to his voicemail. This was a tragedy. I feared the worst might have happened.

  CHAPTER X

  I COULDN’T SLEEP. I called Nate time after time, but there was no answer. I kept getting up, going back to bed, and turning the light on and back off again. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t just go to sleep without knowing if he was all right. At some point in the night, my desperation got to such a point that I considered waking Mom and Dad and asking them for help. I quickly gave up on that idea, though. They were going to ask questions that I wouldn’t be able to answer, and that would make the situation even more complicated.

  I considered calling his place and telling his parents what happened. But given the fragile relationship he had with them, I was confident he would never turn to them for help.

  By dawn, my nerves and swinging emotions had succumbed to exhaustion. I didn’t know how long I slept, but by the time I woke up the sun was high in the sky. As soon as I opened my eyes, I reached for my cell phone, still on my pillow, and dialed his number again. A recorded voice said, “Sorry, this mailbox is full. Please try again later.”

  This was a tragedy. It meant Nate hadn’t had access to his cell phone since the previous night. I immediately knew something had happened to him. I needed to talk to him. I had to come up with a plan to get in touch, or at least know where he was.

  I glanced at my reflection in the mirror in shock. I looked like a mad woman in my striped pajama pants, T-shirt, and the smudged makeup from the previous night. My hair was frizzy from the pillow, and I had panda eyes from mascara.

  My wrist was really sore where Nate grabbed me, and to make matters worse, it was all bruised. It was proof that it hadn’t been a dream.

  My room was back to its natural mess. It hadn’t taken long to go full circle. My walk-in closet was again chaos. The sheets of my bed were crumpled into a ball.

  I ran downstairs to find Mom and Dad eating in the kitchen. The news was blasting in the background.

  “Hi, Sophie!” Mom chanted. She could get on my nerves with her never-ending enthusiasm.

  “Dad, can I use your office?” I said, pacing through the kitchen, ignoring Mom’s babbling.

  “Sure,” Dad mumbled with his mouth half-full. He was eating lunch in front of the TV.

  I went into his office, closing the door behind me. I looked around at his cluttered shelves, feeling overwhelmed. How was I going to find anything here? It would take me a decade to go through all his books.

  Thankfully I remembered Dad had a classification chart of the books in his library. But first I had to find the chart. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  I went over to his desk and shuffled through the papers and books. I happened to remember that the organizational chart was on a yellowish piece of paper. I went through the desk drawers pulling all the papers out, and finally I spotted it at the bottom of one of them.

  I had no time to waste. Placing the chart on the desk, I ran my finger down the page. It was organized alphabetically, and right at the bottom of the first column the
re it was: Ancient Egypt. There were around fifty books in this category. I didn’t really know what I was searching for, but I decided to go for Cleopatra, as it was my only lead.

  There were three books that contained the word Cleopatra in the title, but there was one that caught my eye: Cleopatra’s Untold Secrets. It was in shelf BA, book 37. That was the bottom shelf behind the door.

  Dashing over to the corner of the office, I squatted down next to the shelf. Tipping my head sideways, I ran my finger along the row of books. It was the last one, a really old, blue book.

  I squeezed the book out from the jammed shelf and then, one by one, each book collided with the next like a domino. The last book on the row hit the side wall.

  Even though it was the middle of the day, Dad’s office didn’t get much light. I placed the book on Dad’s desk and turned on the lamp. I went straight to the glossary at the back. Holding my breath, I skimmed through the pages. I had only one lead and if that word wasn’t there, this was a dead end.

  “Bingo!” I muttered to myself.

  The glossary cited the word Ammateus, and next to it a roman numeral. How was I supposed to know what page that was? The last time I’d seen any roman numerals was in fifth grade.

  If I remembered correctly, C was 100 and L was 50. XXX had to be 30, and VI 6. It was page 186.

  I energetically turned page after page, almost tearing them off. I skimmed through the first paragraphs, as I had seen the information before. It explained how Egyptians worshiped the setting sun Tum the rising sun Ra, the pyramids, and the obelisks. The following paragraphs commented on Cleopatra’s unexplained obsession with the obelisks and her fear of the night spirits. Next to it, there was a list of names by which these spirits had been known. The first name on the list was Ammateus. The book continued by describing Cleopatra’s belief that these obelisks, and the Syenite stone from which they were carved, would protect her from the night spirits.

  The book explained that she was specifically captivated by two obelisks that were erected in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis in 1450 BC, which she transported through the desert to be reerected in Alexandria. They guarded the doors of the Caesareum, a temple that she built for Mark Antony. This is where, much later, Cleopatra and Mark Antony committed suicide the night before Cleopatra’s birthday. They’d evidently learned that Augustus and his army were on their way to Alexandria.

  The book went on to describe how she was specifically attached to these two obelisks, but the reason was enigmatic since they were made from the exact same stone as others. Ironically, one of these obelisks now rested in New York’s Central Park and the other one in London.

  Cleopatra was the pioneer of a trend that would continue through to modern times. Through the centuries, most of the Egyptian obelisks had been displaced from their original locations and traveled thousands of miles to be reerected in Western cities such as New York, London, Paris, and Rome.

  It was true that the obelisks had been of great importance in Egyptian mythology, but I couldn’t understand what the big deal was in modern times.

  “Sophie, come over quick!” Mom’s voice resonated from the kitchen, making my heart skip a beat. Why was she shouting so alarmingly?

  I closed the book and rushed to the living room. Mom and Dad bounced in front of the TV. The news anchor introduced the clip from the previous night’s premiere.

  “Last night was the premiere for the highly anticipated movie, Operation Calypso. A star-studded red carpet kicked off the evening with all the A-listers of the moment. However, the premiere was overshadowed by a shocking turn of events. The producers held an after party for the cast at the Onyx Bar on Sunset Boulevard.”

  An aerial shot of Sunset Boulevard appeared on the screen.

  “Around 1:00 a.m., the party was interrupted by a series of explosions that are being investigated by the LAPD. As of now, the police are considering the possibility of a terrorist attack, though no group has claimed responsibility. Three people were badly injured, and twelve others were taken to hospital with minor injuries. None of the injuries are considered life-threatening.”

  “Sophie, that’s where you were! Are you okay? What happened?” Mom said, terrified.

  I couldn’t look away from the TV. The news anchor’s voice resonated in the back of my mind. A clip showed Megan and Alex arriving at the red carpet.

  “Earlier in the evening, at the theater, the stars of the film, Alex Giordani and Megan Bennett, didn’t disappoint their fans. Their glamorous entrance caused such a stir that the LAPD had to intervene to control the crowd. Rumor has it that Alex and Megan are more than costars. When asked, they said, of course, they’re just friends.

  “The producers of Operation Calypso say their thoughts are with the injured…”

  I interrupted the television. “I’m as shocked as you are. I left before this happened.” My eyes were wide open.

  “Have you spoken to your friends?” Mom said in panic.

  “No, but they left right before I did,” I uttered absentmindedly. “Would you excuse me a moment?” I rushed up the stairs, leaving Mom and Dad staring stunned at the TV.

  There were three people severely injured. What if one of those was Nate? I couldn’t live like this anymore. I had to know where he was.

  I turned on my laptop and looked for Nate’s home phone number. He would have to forgive me for getting his parents involved. I knew he would understand. At least they could tell me whether he’d slept at home.

  I inhaled, counted down to one, and told myself I could do this. Sitting on the bed, I grabbed the phone and dialed. It rang several times, but no answer.

  When I was about to hang up, I heard, “Hello, Werner residence. Evelyn speaking.”

  My heart was about to jump out of my chest. I didn’t know what to say, as I wasn’t expecting Nate’s mom at the other end of the line.

  “Hello? Anyone there?” Nate’s mom repeated.

  “Hi, Evelyn. This is Sophie, Nate’s friend,” I said, rushing through each word.

  I paused, expecting her to say something, but she was waiting for me to speak. “Is he there? Can I speak with him?”

  “He’s not available at the moment, but I’ll let him know you called. Thanks for call…”

  “Wait! Wait!” I interrupted.

  “Excuse me?” she said, seemingly offended by my tone.

  I knew I had to tell her what happened if I wanted her to cooperate and help me find Nate. “I was with Nate last night. I left him behind at that bar where the attack—”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ll have to wait and talk to him.” She cut me off as though she was talking to a telemarketer trying to sell her a magazine subscription.

  I knew this conversation was going nowhere. I went straight to the point. “Did Nate sleep at home last night? It’s really important.”

  “Uh, I don’t know… Uh… I don’t think so.” Nate’s mom’s voice quavered as a liar’s might.

  “You need to find out where he is. Maybe something happened to him,” I demanded.

  A heavy silence filled the line. Nate’s mom didn’t seem to like being questioned about her son’s whereabouts. “I don’t really have time to deal with this right now. I’m actually expecting a call. Can you just call his cell?” she asked unpleasantly.

  I couldn’t believe Nate’s mom said she didn’t have time to deal with “this,” when she was referring to her son. We weren’t discussing the neighbor’s new affair, for God’s sake! I was telling her that her son had gone missing!

  I’d never seen Nate’s mom, but I could clearly picture her in my mind. The typical Beverly Hills over-refined snob: blond, pearl necklace, one size too small two-piece Chanel suit, and a perpetually surprised look as a result of the excess of Botox.

  At this point, I was delusional. I didn’t care what his mom thought about me. Her disrespect toward Nate brought the worst out of me. “Did Nate come home last night or not? I don’t have all day.�
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  “He didn’t come home, but I wouldn’t worry. He’s disappeared for weeks at a time before. He’s probably staying with a friend or something,” she calmly explained, trying to make it sound like I was overreacting.

  “He’s not staying with any friends,” I repeated, raising my voice as if she had hearing problems. That was my only logical explanation for her passive attitude. “I’m telling you that he was at that bar where—”

  “I really have to go. I’m actually more worried about who he has hurt this time.”

  Each of those words felt like a stab in my heart. I couldn’t hold my anger anymore. I shouted, stressing each word. “What kind of mother doesn’t call the police if her son gets caught in the middle of a terrorist attack the night before and he’s been missing since? Are you out of your—”

  A loud beep filled the line before I could finish the sentence.

  Nate had apparently disappeared into thin air. I couldn’t hold it anymore. Something happened to him. He didn’t go home last night. Where was he? I threw myself on the bed and, burying my face in the pillow, I burst into tears.

  The cruel way in which Nate’s parents ignored him was unspeakable. How could she be so selfish? This was her only son she was talking about. Now I understood Nate’s resentment when he spoke about his parents. They punished him with their indifference, as if his condition had been a lifestyle choice. The worst part of the story was that I suspected even Nate thought all of this was his own fault.

  *

  I spent most of the day in bed. I couldn’t gather the energy to get up. As more hours drifted by, the chances that Nate had made it out of that bar safely decreased.

  I lay in bed trying to think of a way to find out what happened to him. I thought of calling all the hospitals, but that was a stupid idea. Nate was a minor, and if he’d been taken to the hospital, they would’ve called his parents.