I See Me (Oracle Book 1)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  The dirty windows and door of the place were covered in security bars. The twenty-percent sale sign taped to the inside of the window was seriously sun bleached. The display case was half full of watches. Who wore watches anymore? The other half was filled with what appeared to be hundreds of different wedding bands. I never knew there were so many choices. But then, I’d never even fantasied about getting married.

  I had to buzz to be let in, so I did.

  Then I waited.

  I waited so long that I glanced around for the security camera that I was pretty sure would accompany the buzzer and the bars. It was in the upper right corner of the doorframe.

  I removed my tinted glasses and depressed the intercom next to the buzzer button.

  “Hi.” I spoke into the black box while looking up at the camera. I’m sure I looked ridiculous doing so. “I have a gold necklace that needs to be fixed … and the money to pay for it.”

  I didn’t mind that most adults found me a little off-putting. That was the point, after all. I couldn’t blend in — I know, because I’d tried for years — so I didn’t bother. However, most old people could be made to feel really stupid about their prejudice with a simple friendly smile. Though I only bothered smiling in that way when I wanted something, which wasn’t often.

  The door buzzed, and I grabbed the handle quickly before it could lock on me again.

  The store was divided by three rows of waist-high glass cases, with more ringing the walls. It was less dusty inside than I’d imagined it would be. The cash register was at the back, next to a short Formica countertop.

  Not bothering to look at anything, I headed back to the counter as the jeweler wandered out of the back office. He wasn’t that old. Old enough that he was graying at the temples, but I had friends going gray, so sometimes that didn’t mean much. Still, he was old enough to be my father, if he’d been Asian rather than East Indian. Not that I knew for sure my biological dad was full Asian, but I looked to be at least a quarter by my size and the shape of my face. This was why my white blond hair and big, pale eyes — supposedly inherited from my mother — were weird if I didn’t keep them covered.

  He was young enough that my appearance shouldn’t have bothered him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was in the can.”

  Great. “Okay,” I said as I fished the necklace out of the inner pocket of my bag.

  “Cool bag,” he said. “Did you get that on Etsy?”

  “No,” I answered — again lying, though I really hated doing so — because I really wasn’t into the chatting part of human interaction. “My necklace is broken.”

  I placed my mother’s necklace on the counter, stone first. The heavy linked chain pooled to one side. It was long enough that it would probably fall almost halfway to my belly button if I wore it. By that, I gathered my mother had been tall. I hadn’t known that before.

  “What’s this?” the jeweler asked. But he was speaking to himself, not me, so I didn’t bother answering.

  He lifted the chain. “Yes, broken, I see, but …” He stared at the stone, then looked at me. He was acting weird. Concerned, maybe. But then also freaked out around the edges.

  He picked up a magnifying glass — one of those ones that jewelers somehow wore in their eye — and looked at the broken link, then closer at the stone.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked. His tone was weirdly harsh, but also excited.

  “Quartz?” I said with a shrug. “Can you fix it?”

  “Can I fix it …”

  He looked at me instead of the necklace, sizing me up for some reason.

  The back of my neck started to itch. I was really aware of the locked door behind me. Could I get out of the store without him letting me out? I hadn’t thought of that before coming in. Why would I? I wanted to glance back to check to see if there was a release lever on the door, but I held the guy’s gaze instead.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “It was just handed to me by my social worker. It was my mother’s. My dead mother’s. But I’m not sure how that’s your business.”

  “You didn’t steal it?”

  “What? No. Why would I be stupid enough to bring it in here if I ripped it off?”

  “To sell it.”

  “I just want it fixed. Can you fix it or not?”

  The guy stared at me for a moment longer. His eyes were really dark brown. Wet seal-pelt brown, but not warm and fuzzy like that image would imply. Slick and nimble seal brown. Tricky … maybe not to be trusted.

  “It’s not a quartz,” he finally said, returning his gaze to the necklace. “The chain is rose gold, eighteen karat. I’d have to weigh it to be sure, but this is thousands of dollars worth of gold in this market.”

  He looked at me for a reaction, so I shrugged. He looked at the rough-cut milky stone through the magnifying glass again, turning it in his fingers. “I don’t know what idiot just drills gold eyelets into a diamond this size and simply hangs it from a chain.”

  “Sorry?”

  He looked at me. The stone was now hidden in the palm of his hand, which he was practically clutching to his chest.

  “Do you know what this is worth? The gold or stone alone? I could sell it —”

  “No,” I blurted. “Not interested. It was my mother’s.”

  “The stone is almost the size of a nickel,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Depending on clarity, the depth of the damage from the eyelets, and estimating on the low end, it’s worth easily fifty grand. And the gold —”

  “I don’t want to sell it,” I said. I was on the verge of yelling. I placed the palms of my hands on the counter to stop myself from snatching the necklace away from him. I didn’t like the way he was holding it. I didn’t like him holding it at all.

  “It was my mother’s,” I repeated, carefully articulating my words.

  “Yes, what a great gift —”

  “It isn’t a gift. It’s an inheritance. Give it back please.”

  “Yes, exactly —”

  “My mother died in a car crash before I was born,” I said, getting angry as I heard the suppressed tears in my own voice. I didn’t cry, not ever. I wasn’t going to cry for this jerk. “Do you get it? She died. Before I was born.”

  He nodded slowly, like he was just starting to hear me.

  “Give it back to me, please.”

  He passed the necklace back to me. I snatched it from his hand. Not even bothering to put it in my bag, I immediately turned away to cross to the door.

  “Wait,” he said. “I can fix it for you. And clean it.”

  “Never mind,” I answered without turning back. “Just let me out.”

  I reached the door and wrapped my right hand around the handle. I was still clutching the necklace in my left.

  “You really should wear it,” he said, almost pleading now, though he stayed behind the counter. “You don’t want to lose it.”

  “Just let me out. Please.” I rattled the door, though I would have preferred not to. I didn’t like freaking out in front of anyone. “Please.”

  He buzzed the door and it unlocked. I yanked it open and leaped out onto the street.

  The cool air hit me like a breath of freedom. I bent my head down and hustled back down the hill to the SkyTrain station as fast as I could without running.

  Only once I was there, seated in the fast-moving train with the houses and buildings along Cambie Street blurring past outside — only then did I carefully coil the necklace into the inner pocket of my bag.

  I zipped the pocket closed.

  I tucked the bag securely underneath my arm.

  I didn’t care what the guy said about the necklace. Didn’t care about that money, if he was even telling the truth. But other people would.

  I didn’t like people wanting things from me. Obviously, I didn’t mind selling my sketches, but that was a fair exchange — money for my art. I was an adult.
Adults worked to pay for their lives.

  I had been lucky that I wasn’t an obvious target. I kept my head down, didn’t own much in the way of valuables, and people generally left me alone. I wasn’t interested in changing that dynamic in any way.

  If I minded my own business, other people should as well, but nothing in life tended to be that fair.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I’ll give you six thousand for it,” I said.

  “Seven thousand, firm,” he answered.

  “That’s way too much, old man.” I grinned, just so he knew I was teasing about the ‘old man’ part.

  He chuckled, his belly actually jiggling to accompany this mirth.

  I liked Gary. He was nice for an old guy. His buzz-cut hair was gray and his big, gnarled hands had seen hard use — the hard use that had probably bought him this mausoleum of a house in Richmond. And, upon his retirement, the upgraded, insanely expensive RV that currently filled the entire driveway.

  We were negotiating for the much less upgraded 1975 Brave Winnebago he had parked on a cement pad at the side of the house. His wife wanted a hot tub there. I figured she’d just be happy to not be staring at the Brave out of her living room windows anymore.

  Not that I thought the older RV was an eyesore. To me, it looked like freedom.

  The kind of freedom I’d been looking for since I turned sixteen, and started scouring Craigslist and AutoTrader to figure out what kind of RV to save up for. I’d gotten my driver’s license pretty much the moment I was eligible. The license had taken some wrangling on my part, and I was seriously lucky my shrink and doctor hadn’t pulled it after my last visit to the psych ward. Of course, I’d been rather circumspect about the blinding side effects of hallucinations.

  Despite the blip this afternoon, I was certain I had the delusions under control. At the very least, I knew the warning signs and could react quickly — say, pull off the road or park the RV, if needed.

  This was my second trip out into middle-of-nowhere Richmond. It had taken a SkyTrain and two busses to get here the first time, but I’d figured out a way to skip the second bus on this trip. I didn’t mind walking, and I could cut diagonally using the side streets where the bus had to drive in straight lines. The buildings weren’t particularly tall around here, so the residential sprawl was massive. The house lots were easily double the size of those closer to downtown Vancouver, though.

  It was full dark, around six o’clock when I’d arrived. The sun set early this time of year. I was late, but Gary hadn’t cared. The delicious, spicy dinner smells coming from the house behind him when he opened the front door had made my tummy rumble.

  I settled my feet. I’d been bouncing around a bit in anticipation. It was a struggle to compose my face. I really, really wanted him to sell this RV to me. He’d kept it in mint condition, with the original orange-striped curtains, brownish-orange carpet, and lime-green countertops. Even the dashboard was burnt orange. You’d think the colors would be completely faded and the fabric threadbare, but they weren’t. It was absolutely hideous. I loved every inch of it.

  “Six thousand five hundred. That’s all I’ve got.”

  Gary narrowed his eyes at me and frowned deeply. “I’m not sure. Can your feet reach the pedals?”

  I laughed. “You saw me test drive it last time.”

  “Yup. Nearly shaved ten years off my life watching you pull out in it.”

  He thrust his hand forward and I eagerly shook it.

  I dug into my bag and pulled out the envelope of cash I’d been carrying all day. I opened the stack of hundred-dollar bills and removed five hundreds from it.

  Gary sputtered, though probably more over me carrying that much cash than how I’d talked him down five hundred dollars that I’d been completely prepared to pay. I actually had a couple hundred dollars tucked inside my bag in American currency as well.

  “I have to buy gas,” I said as I handed him six thousand five hundred dollars of my hard-earned, scraped-together-over-the-last-two-years savings. I’d never been so completely excited to part with money in any amount before, let alone this much of it. I’d have to get some new sketches listed quickly if I wanted to eat next week. Thankfully, I wasn’t a big eater.

  Gary laughed. “You’re taking her tonight, then?”

  “I’d like to.”

  “Course, course,” he said. “Well … I should show you how to empty the storage tanks and charge the battery.”

  “I read the owner’s manual and the driver’s guide last time.”

  “Ah, yes you did.”

  I held my hand out for the keys. He smiled sadly as he dropped them into my open palm.

  “There’s an Autoplan place over on Number 3 Road,” Gary said. “But I’m not sure they’ll still be open.”

  “They are. Until seven,” I said. “The insurance guy is kind of expecting us. If you’re cool to come with me?”

  “Of course, he is.” Gary chuckled again. “I’ll follow you in my car.”

  I practically stumbled over my feet to the side door of the RV. The Brave had a single exterior door — right behind the cockpit passenger seat — that opened to the entire interior. There was one bed in the tail section, and the bright lime-green kitchen table could be converted as well. The kitchen and the tiny bathroom occupied the middle of the vehicle. This model didn’t come with the drop-down bed over the cockpit, though that had been an option back when it was new.

  All I had to do to be exactly where I’d been dreaming of being for the last three years was climb a couple of orange-carpeted steps up into the cockpit between the driver and passenger seats. From there, I could slide in behind the wheel and be off.

  Well, right after I got insurance.

  ∞

  I hustled out of the Autoplan place, even more impoverished than I’d been thirty minutes ago, but with my insurance papers safely tucked inside my bag.

  The mall parking lot was empty, and the insurance broker’s lights winked out behind me as I hustled over to where Gary was tightening the new license plates onto the Brave.

  I was glad that Gary had come with me, because it had really smoothed out the transfer of ownership process. He’d slipped out before the insurance guy seriously depleted my savings account further. Apparently, it took four years — not three — to build up a safe driving record and nineteen-year-old’s dished out a crazy amount for insurance. I paid for six months upfront without even blinking.

  Gary grinned at me as I approached. But then, I was grinning at him like a maniac and practically skipping instead of walking, so I wasn’t surprised. He snapped something closed on his Leatherman multi-tool and pocketed the knife. A screwdriver, I guessed.

  “All set then?” he asked.

  “Just one last thing.” I pulled the back off the date sticker the insurance guy had given me and applied it to the blank spot on the license plate. It read July 14. And for me, that spelled six months of freedom. Yes, please, and thank you.

  I straightened and offered Gary my hand. I didn’t like to touch people, but Gary had been amazing. “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  He shook my hand and then nodded me toward the Brave without a word.

  I crossed between his big Jeep and the RV to climb in the side door.

  As I settled into the driver’s seat, Gary crossed around to the driver’s-side window. I put the keys in the ignition and obligingly hand-cranked the window down when Gary knocked on it.

  “I filled her for you,” he said, leaning in with his arm on the window ledge. “Tess baked you muffins.” He gestured across me toward a basket on the passenger seat. “I’d already figured you’d take the Brave tonight.”

  “Thank Tess for me?”

  “I will. I also put a note in the basket, with our cellphone number, our CB handles, and other things I thought you should know. But, ah, we don’t use the CB very much anymore.”

  “Right.” I let him off the uncomfortable hook
he was wiggling on. “Because lots of working girls use them at truck stops to solicit customers. I’m good with Google.”

  Gary cleared his throat and bobbed his head in a nod. “Okay, then. Well, it’s still good in case of a traffic jam. The truck and RVs ahead of you will let you know what lane to get into or what bypass to take. I also left instructions on how to change the password for the personal safe, which I’m sure you already saw.”

  “It’s bolted into the floor in one of the lower storage cabinets.”

  “It isn’t foolproof, of course, but you might want to use it for your passport and any valuables you aren’t wearing. The sheets are clean, and there’s an extra set for the second bed. Tess bought all the plates, glasses, and utensils especially for the Brave. But, well, you know all that already.”

  “Thank you … again and again.” I couldn’t stop smiling, even though my face was hurting from it.

  “The tires are going to need replacing next year. Sooner if you drive her a lot. Try to get her undercover in the winter, especially in the snow. Don’t invite any leaks.”

  I nodded, though Gary had told me all of this already. I had a good memory but I didn’t mind him fussing over me — even if it was really just him fussing over letting go of his Brave.

  “Tess and I are going to take a spin down the coast tomorrow, see where we get. It’ll be wet, of course, and not all the campgrounds are open.”

  “That’s where I’m headed.”

  “I thought you might be. Better to do BC in the spring, after the snow has melted in all the pretty places you’ll want to see.”

  “Okay.”

  He nodded, then did so a second time more deliberately. Finally, he let go of the window and stepped back. “Start her up.”

  I turned the key in the ignition. The engine tried to turn over a few times and then caught.

  “Call the cell if you need us,” Gary called.

  “Texting seems easier. You need an international data plan. I just bought one myself.”