Flux (The Flux Series Book 1)

by Marissa Farrar

  What the hell was going on with this building?

  Chapter Three

  A week passed while I recuperated.

  The first few days back home had been overwhelming, with reporters constantly camped out in the street outside our house, and the phone ringing off the hook with interview requests from the media. They’d come from all over the world—reporters from the BBC in England, even—and eventually my dad had been forced to unplug the phone. I stayed in bed with my curtains drawn, hiding from the camera men and women who seemed determined to get a picture of one of the survivors of the bombing. After a few days, they gave up and moved onto someone else, who, I assumed, must have been happier to speak to them. The last thing I wanted to do was recount a single second of what had happened that day.

  Sitting on my dresser were some get well cards, flowers, and a balloon from colleagues at the restaurant where I waitressed. I appreciated the effort they’d made. I didn’t have a huge number of close friends—hell, who was I kidding? I hardly had any outside of my work colleagues. My sister had been my best friend, and now she was gone.

  My physical injuries were few, and I barely felt them after the first couple of days, but I pretended to my boss at the restaurant that I was too badly hurt to waitress. I was happy not to have to go in to work. It wasn’t just all the questions I knew would be asked that bothered me. I was terrified I’d be overwhelmed with memories of the blast by going back into such a public area. It was a fear I knew would render me incapable of functioning, and I couldn’t bring myself to face anyone in that state. Even worse was the niggling terror it would happen again.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured the sight of my sister’s bloodied hair on the ground, and it felt as though someone punched me in the chest. My dreams were haunted by the explosion, and though I’d been given a couple of sleeping tablets to help me get some rest, I couldn’t bring myself to take them. I was terrified I’d end up trapped inside my nightmares, forced to relive that horrific moment over and over again until I eventually lost my mind. Because I was getting no rest, I was constantly exhausted. I felt strangely hollow, as though someone had scooped out what had made me me and replaced it with a ball of misery. I couldn’t see any point in getting out of bed, or eating, or washing, or doing much of anything. The epic fantasy novels I normally loved to lose myself in lay unread at the side of my bed. Even the indie rock bands I liked to listen to meant nothing to me anymore.

  My dad continued to look after me, which bizarrely only served my misery. I was twenty-two years old and an adult, and he had just lost his other daughter, but I was doing nothing to help him. He brought me food I barely managed to choke down, and forced me into the bathroom to shower. I was weak and selfish, the wrong daughter to have survived. Karina wouldn’t have acted this way if I had been the one to die. She would have taken care of him, not the other way around. Instead of motivating me to deal with what was going on, the thought only condensed my feelings of worthlessness. I wanted to do better, but the thought of leaving the house, even leaving my bed, filled me with panic that left me tremulous and lightheaded.

  The police had been to see me to get my side of the story. There wasn’t much I could tell them, only that I’d been sitting with Karina and the explosion had thrown me away from the table. They thought it had probably saved my life, moving me away from the building we’d been sitting beside, the same one that collapsed on top of Karina. But as for seeing anything suspicious, I wasn’t of any help. I scoured my mind, trying to remember anything I might have seen, but I’d been more focused on ice cream and stories of Karina’s love life than keeping an eye out for anything out of place.

  They still had no idea who was behind the bombing, and that worried me more than anything. There was nothing to stop it happening again, and the constant fear made me not want to step outside our front door.

  I had to eventually, though.

  We had Karina’s funeral to attend.

  I was dreading this day more than anything. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her for good, to admit I’d never see her or be able to speak to her again. Dad had already been over to clear out her room in the apartment she’d shared with a couple of other young, professional women. I should have gone with him to help, but I couldn’t face it. It wasn’t only that I didn’t want to see her room or clear out her things. It was that leaving my father’s house to go to her place would have meant going back into the city, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  I woke in a daze on the morning of her funeral. Only thoughts of my father stopped me from pulling the blankets back over my head and staying in bed for the rest of the day, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. But I was a grown woman, not a little girl, and I needed to find the strength inside me to support my dad. I couldn’t let him go through this alone. I was better than that. He deserved better than that.

  I got up and showered, and put on a black dress with sleeves which stopped just above the elbow, and a tulip shaped skirt which ended just below my knee. It was classy and sophisticated—and not really me at all—but I knew Karina would have approved. There were discussions about banning people from wearing black, that we should have been brightly dressed to celebrate her life, but I couldn’t find it in me to celebrate. Someone had snatched her life away in one selfishly cruel act, and there was no way I was going to celebrate any part of what had happened that day.

  I made my way downstairs to find my father in the kitchen, sitting at the table as he nursed a cup of coffee. He’d gone for a dark gray suit, rather than black. He glanced up at me with a tired smile as I walked in.

  He’d lost weight in the last week, and he looked older for it. The sight made my heart clench. It suddenly dawned on me that if something happened to him, I would be completely alone in the world.

  I leaned down and kissed his cheek. “You look handsome, Pops. Karina would have been proud.”

  Just the mention of her name caused tears to flood my eyes. I hadn’t bothered with mascara, knowing full well it would end up halfway down my face by the end of the day.

  He hugged me tight. “You, too, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I want this day to be over. Is that bad?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s totally normal. I’m feeling the same way.”

  I poured myself some coffee from the pot. I wouldn’t be able to eat anything. I had no appetite and my stomach was in knots. I set the pot back down. A sudden loud pop made me scream, and the glass part of the pot exploded, leaving me standing there with only the plastic handle in my hand. Black liquid spilled everywhere, and I jumped out of the way to avoid hot coffee spilling all over my legs.

  “Dammit! What the hell is wrong with me lately?”

  Ever since the bombing, it felt as though everything was going wrong. I couldn’t even pour a damned coffee without messing up.

  “It’s only a coffee pot,” my father said, rising from his seat. “Sit down, I’ll clean it up.”

  “No, I can do it,” I replied, suddenly angry with myself. Since when had I become so heavy handed? I’d been breaking things all over the place since I’d gotten home from the hospital.

  I picked up the broken pieces of glass from the coffee pot, threw them away, and set about mopping up the coffee. Luckily, it had only been the dregs of the pot left, so there wasn’t too much

  I drank some of the coffee I’d managed to get into my cup, but my stomach was twisted, my throat feeling as though someone had their hand around it.

  The car arrived to take us to the church.

  We rode in the back in silence, my father holding my hand. Most of the mourners were already there when we arrived. Because of the circumstances surrounding Karina’s death, we’d known a huge number of people would turn out, so we asked for a private service with only our family and the people who knew her. I spotted Karina’s old boss—the one who’d done the heart-stomping—sitting in the congregation.

  Sudde
n rage bubbled up inside me and I left my father’s side to storm up to him. I ignored my father’s call of “Ari?” which followed me.

  The man who’d broken my sister’s heart looked up at me as I approached. His expression flickered with recognition, and I thought he was about to offer me a smile of sympathy, but I cut him off.

  “I hope you’re happy,” I snapped.

  The smile faded. “Sorry?”

  “Karina was only at the café that day to tell me what an asshole you were to her. If you’d treated her a little better, perhaps she’d have been doing something completely different that day.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  I leaned in closer so other people wouldn’t hear. “Next time you feel like using a woman and treating them like shit, have a think about the repercussions.”

  My palms tingled, and I gripped my fists to my sides to prevent myself slapping him in the face. I knew I was being unreasonable. He had no way of knowing what was going to happen, but I was hurting, and he’d hurt Karina, therefore I wanted him to hurt, too.

  All along the aisle where he was sitting, the small Bibles which sat on the pews flipped off, landing in the laps of the mourners. They all let out little cries of shock, and I froze, staring at the scene.

  “Arianna?” My father’s voice pulled me away. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, giving Karina’s ex a final glare.

  My father touched my elbow. “It’s time to sit down.”

  I left the people questioning each other about the Bibles—had someone tipped the pew, or had it been a sudden breeze?—and went to take a seat at the front beside my dad.

  The priest ran through his service, though I barely heard a word he’d said. Then it was my turn to stand at the front and tell everyone how I felt about my dead sister. As I stood, my legs wobbled beneath me, and my face grew hot. My heart pounded, making me short of breath. For a moment, I thought I would turn and bolt from the church, but then I caught sight of my dad watching me, his face filled with so much love, and I knew I couldn’t let him down.

  My stomach felt weak and watery, but I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and went to stand at the front.

  I kept it short, knowing I wouldn’t be able to hold it together for long.

  “I’ll miss Karina more than anything else in the world. When our mom died, I was too young to really remember her.” I had to stop to hold back tears and compose myself. I cleared my throat. “Karina was everything to me—my sister, my best friend, and even a mom during those times when I needed one. Our dad, Bryce, is the greatest father anyone could ever wish for, but there were certain things no dad wants to have to speak to his teenage daughter about.” A small ripple of laughter drifted from the crowd and I felt my heart lift. That was what I wanted. “Karina stepped in during those times, and I will always be grateful to her. I love you, Karina,” I said, addressing my dead sister, hoping she could hear me, wherever she was, “more than you’ll ever know. I hope you and Mom have found each other and you’re happy together now. I miss you so much.” Tears filled my eyes and I squeezed them shut, pressing my lips together to reclaim my emotion. A painful ball swelled in my throat, making it hard for me to swallow.

  I was relieved it was done, and I took my seat back at my father’s side. He took my hand and held it tight while the priest finished his readings.

  We left the church and walked through the cemetery to where her body would be laid to rest. We hadn’t done the traditional visitation of the casket at the funeral home. Her body had been in no state to be seen after the bombing, and Karina would have hated to be left lying there while people came back and forth, talking over the top of her.

  I held my dad’s hand, suddenly feeling like he’d become an old man. He’d always been so strong to me, but my sister’s death had both aged and hollowed him. I knew he was being as strong as he could for me, but I was worried about him.

  We stood by as the casket was slowly lowered into the ground.

  To stop myself breaking down, I pulled back into myself. I allowed my gaze to sweep across the mourners, wanting to look everywhere but at the box containing my sister’s body. It was an annoyingly bright day, the sunlight causing the white gravestones to stand out against the vibrant green grass all around us. I would have preferred the usual fog of the bay to have blocked out the sun, weather far more fitting to the somber mood.

  Someone, standing back from the crowd, caught my eye and I frowned.

  Beneath a tree stood a young man wearing black—as would be expected—but not funeral wear. It was a black t-shirt and leather jacket. He held my gaze for a bit too long, before ducking his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and turning away. My heart lurched in my chest, but I didn’t know why. Something about him intrigued me. He looked to be about my age, but there was something about his face—a knowledge, an intensity. I couldn’t describe it. It was wrong to be distracted by some guy when I was at my sister’s funeral. I was a terrible person. But had I seen him before? Something twitched inside my head, trying to pluck out a memory. I was sure I had.

  I stepped away from my father, and he shot me a frown. I shook my head, as though to say I couldn’t be there right at that moment, and took a step back. With my hand against my mouth and my head down, I turned and walked away from the graveside. It was over now anyway. There was nothing more to do other than fill in the hole, and I didn’t think I could handle watching dirt being thrown on top of her.

  Instead, I followed in the direction I’d seen the young man go. I spotted him darting between the gravestones, then heading beneath a small copse of trees.

  “Hey,” I called. Was I insane? Why was I chasing after some stranger in a graveyard? He didn’t stop, so I picked up my pace, wishing I hadn’t been wearing heels and a skirt that seemed to bind my knees together.

  “Hey!” I shouted again. Irrational anger built up inside me. Why the hell wasn’t he stopping? He must be able to hear me shouting.

  I passed one of the trees and the branches above my head whipped around, small twigs and leaves falling all around me. They bowed and strained, leaning toward me. I stopped in surprise and looked up. What the hell? There was no wind blowing, nothing to make them move like that.

  A shiver rippled down my spine. Strange things happening in a cemetery immediately made me think of ghosts.

  “Karina?” I asked softly. If she was here, could that be one of her ways of telling me? Had she been the cause of all the strange things happening around me since the bombing? And yet I didn’t get any sense of her being near. I felt as alone as I had since she’d died.

  The trees fell still, and I glanced in the direction in which I’d been following the young man in the black jacket. He’d disappeared from view, and I didn’t know which way he’d gone.

  What was I doing, anyway, chasing some stranger? I must be losing my goddamned mind.

  With a sigh, I turned and made my way back to the graveside. My father was accepting condolences from people, taking hugs from the women and shaking hands with the men. My sister had plenty of friends. Morbidly, I thought about my own funeral. I’d only have my father here, and perhaps a couple of people I worked with. No one would really miss me apart from him.

  I needed to pull my mind out of these depressive thoughts. I could feel myself being drawn down into the darkness of despair, and while one part of me felt the lure like a seductive mistress, the other part pulled away, knowing once I was in her grasp, I would have to fight to get free again.

  We went back to the house for the wake. My dad had brought in caterers, but luckily only a few of Karina’s closest friends came back and they didn’t stay for long. I was relieved to see the old boss had stayed away. I couldn’t stand to watch them crying on each other’s shoulders, while I sat dry-eyed and distant, just wanting the day to be over.

  Finally, they left, and my dad and I set about clearing away the debris of the wake. Empty
plates and glasses, spilled food and drink. It felt strangely unreal to me to be cleaning what looked like the remnants of a party when we’d just had to bury the person we loved most in the world.

  But it was done. We’d said our goodbyes to her. Now we just had to figure out how to go about living the rest of our lives.

  Chapter Four

  A knock came at my bedroom door, causing me to look up from my book. Since the funeral, I’d figured out how to focus enough to read, and it had been a lifeline to me—a way of not having to be alone with my thoughts, I guessed. The door cracked open and my father’s head peeped around the corner.

  “You got a minute?” he asked.

  I smiled and patted the bed beside me. “Sure.”

  He sat down, not as comfortable as he’d normally be, clearing his throat and sitting too upright. “I don’t want you to think I’m being pushy, Arianna, but I wondered if you were considering when you might go back to work. I know it’s only been a week since Karina’s funeral, but you need to get back to some kind of normalcy.”

  I bit my lower lip and glanced away. “Do we need the money?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I just think it would do you good to have a reason to leave the house again. It’s not healthy for you sitting up here alone, day after day. I’m worried about you.”

  I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. And that’s okay. You’ve gone through a big trauma, and then losing Karina as well ...” He took a deep breath and let it out again. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you’re not thinking of going back to work, and you have no plans to leave the house, it might be a good idea for you to start going to see someone, like on a regular basis.”

  I stiffened. “I don’t need to see a shrink, Dad. I’m not crazy.”

  “I never said you were. I just thought it would be good if you had someone other than me to talk to, and having some regular appointments during the week would give a bit more focus to your days.”