by Brian Mercer
"It's funny," Gwen said, pressing her tongue along the side of her teeth contemplatively, "you look so much younger and at the same time you seem more mature."
"Yeah, Life After the Accident," I replied, my eyes losing focus. "It's only been five or six months, but it seems like an age. Sometimes I feel like an old lady." I met Gwen's gaze and smiled mischievously. "And sometimes I feel like that whiny girl at camp who cries the whole time for her mommy.
"Mom and Dad think I'm possessed," I added. "Sometimes Mom talks like I died in the accident. Dad actually said, 'Maybe you need another whack on the head, see if we can get the old Becky channel. Hey, maybe I can tune in the game.'"
"No! He actually said that?"
"He did. Thinks he's funny. His way of relieving the tension, I guess." I breathed deeply and let it out in a low, shaky exhale, trying to swallow the moisture building up in the back of my throat. "All my friends dumped me." My cheeks were suddenly hot with tears.
"Hey, I haven't dumped you."
I stopped myself and took another quick breath, trying and failing to shrug off the crying fit. "You know, I don't need those hyenas. Right after Christmas, when we got together just before the accident, it was like nothing real mattered. All I heard were laundry lists of all their new clothes and jewelry and gift cards." I met Gwen's eye. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that's the way I was, too."
"I wasn't thinking that."
"Well, I was like that. But not anymore." I reached for Gwen's hand and squeezed it. "I haven't had anyone to talk to, I mean really talk to, since all this happened." I bit down on my tongue to hold back fresh tears. "There's stuff I haven't told anyone. Not the doctors, not my shrink, not even Mom. I've gotta unload."
"You can tell me."
"You've got to swear you won't repeat this. Not to anyone. Promise me."
"I swear. I promise."
I gazed at Gwen, steeling myself. It was time, at last, to reveal The Big Secret. "That night at the party, the night of the accident, I think I really did die."
"What do you mean?"
"I had one of those near-death experiences."
I waited for the mocking laughter that would have been the response from any one of my old friends, but Gwen just looked at me. "It's okay, you can tell me. It's safe."
"I'm still fuzzy about what happened just before the accident." I closed my eyes, trying to conjure the hazy pictures from the blackness. "I remember driving along. I remember Johnny was holding my hand. A bright light. Then the next thing I can piece together was me standing on the side of the road.
"I was just... standing there. It was butt-cold that night and there was dirty snow piled on the edge of the highway. I should have been freezing, but I wasn't. Our car had turned over and it was like lying in a kind of ditch. The front was completely smashed in and the windows were broken. I remember the glass. There was glass everywhere.
"I could see one of the boys in the front seat; Bill, I think. He was hanging partially out of the car. I was seeing all this but I wasn't really thinking. I was like shell-shocked, you know?"
Gwen shook her head. "I don't get it. If you were standing by the side of the road, how did you get so hurt?"
"That's just it. The police said they found me in the car with half the back seat wrapped around me. I couldn't have been standing by the road."
A warm softness filled me. "It was… peaceful. Perfect peace. Peace and what? Peace and I want to say, relief. Like, you know, it was done. I was done. It's all gonna be okay now.
"I don't remember everything. A lot of that first part is still hazy. For a long time everything was like all globbed together. It took a while to sort out. Actually, I'm still trying to sort it out.
"I know my Great Nana Mary was there, my mom's grandmother who died when I was a baby. I'd never really met her, you know, but I'd seen pictures. She told me she'd been kinda watching out after me. I guess she still is, maybe.
"And there was this man." I pressed my hand to my forehead as if I could push out everything that had happened so I could see and make sense of it. "This older man. He was like a tour guide or a concierge or something."
"Was this heaven or a hotel?" Gwen joked.
I smiled. "Yeah, I know. Really.
"No, he was like... like a really nice teacher." I put my hand on my heart and patted it. "He was so nice. It was like being with the sweetest grandpa you could ever imagine. And he was telling me things, about me, about my life. I don't remember all of what he said, only that what he told me didn't make me feel sad or ashamed, only that I could do better, you know. Like I had let myself down."
"Maybe he was a relative of yours,” Gwen suggested, "like your Great Nana Mary. Someone you’ve never met before."
"I don’t think so." I shook my head. "He seemed to be with me for most of the time. I remember walking through like this neighborhood with him, the most beautiful and peaceful neighborhood I'd ever seen. It was full of tall, really old-looking trees. Everything was green and lush. And there were these big houses, like old-fashioned mansions, all along the street. It was very quiet and so peaceful. Being there, it was like being able to totally relax for the first time. It was like I was finally home, you know?"
I closed my eyes, trying to remember the next part exactly. "I have these fuzzy memories of talking with a lot of people. Their faces were so familiar. I knew them and they seemed to know me, but for the life of me, thinking back on it, I couldn't tell you who one of them was.
"Then finally this grandpa guy, the one who'd been showing me around, he tells me that I have to go back, that I hadn't done what I'd come to Earth to do.
"I was like confused, you know, 'cause I'd almost forgotten about my life as Becky. By then Becky seemed like a dream and like I'd finally woken up and the dream was fading.
"I told him, 'Are you kidding me? I'm not going. I'm staying here with you and my friends.' But he said no, that that wasn't what I agreed to when I'd decided to be born as Becky. He told me — and I remember this clearly — he said that I had something very important to do, that I was gonna help a lot of people."
"Wow," Gwen said. "This is huge."
I smiled and my eyes filled with tears again. "But I still didn't want to come back. I begged him, 'Please let me stay.' And that was the last thing I remember. Then I was in the hospital, but I didn't recognize where I was or how I got there. One minute I'm in this amazing, happy place, and the next I'm in a bed with tubes and wires coming out of me and this awful, foggy pain that never seemed to go away."
"How long were you gone?"
"I don't know. It's hard to tell how much time passed, you know, Over There. It could have been hours, days, weeks. Mom said I'd only been out of it for like three or four days, but somehow it seemed like I'd been gone forever.
"My parents, my therapist, they think all my freaking out is 'cause of survivor's guilt. And I guess it is, kinda. I am sad that the boys died and I didn't, but not because I wish they'd made it.
"I just miss it, you know? I want to go back. The feeling of being Over There..." I shook my head. "It's like, since the accident, everything's different. The days are drab and dismal. Colors are duller. Food has no taste.
"Since I got back from the hospital, it's like wherever I go, all I can do is take on other people's garbage. I'll go out to eat or to the mall and it's like there are a thousand voices in my head and everyone's trying to talk to me at once. It's like all I can do is feel and I can't turn it off. I can't shut it out."
"I think I'd go nuts," Gwen said.
"If you only knew. I know this isn't gonna make any sense, but it's almost like a little bit of the person I was before I was Becky came back with me. I know how weird that sounds, but it's like I'm remembering things about who I was before.
"Do you ever feel like something big is just about to happen? Like, you know, there's something out there that's gonna change your life but you don't know what it is? That's what it feels like. Like my li
fe is gonna change. Again. Gwen, I'm so scared. I feel like I'm going crazy, I mean really, truly crazy. Like those guys you see on street corners when you go into the city, screaming at people who aren't there. I don't want to end up like that. I'm afraid I'm gonna end up like that."
Without thinking about it, I started chewing on my ponytail. A new habit.
By now it had grown dark outside. The ceiling-high windows that looked out onto the backyard had for years been curtainless. Now they looked out into blackness, a void reflecting the image of Gwen and me sitting on the couch. The windows felt like watchful eyes. I sensed the presence of people beyond the glass. Not just the disembodied Jenny, who liked to announce herself at moments like this, when I was just a little bit rattled. No, it felt like the presence of many people, maybe a dozen, maybe more, standing out there in the dark.
"What time is it?" I looked at my watch, tapping it with my fingers. "This dumb thing. This is my third watch this year. I put 'em on, they'll work for a few days, then they stop working. I take them off and put them on the dresser and within a week they start working again. I put 'em on and — blam! — broken. They work on the dresser but not on me."
"What do you mean 'What time is it?' Who cares what time it is! You mean to tell me you've been walking around with all this for months and months and you haven't told anyone?"
I leaned over, peering through the door to the kitchen. "Eek! It's past eleven. I've got to go."
"Becky, you can't drop this bomb on me and just leave!"
"I know. Sorry. But if I don't get home soon, Mom's gonna call out the third battalion." I looked at Gwen imploringly. "This is the first time I've been out alone at night since the accident and Mom and Dad are kinda freaked out."
"Your phone still works, doesn't it?"
I smiled. "It does."
"Then call me. We'll figure this out, 'kay?"
"Okay."
****
I started the car and put it into reverse. Gwen stood under the porchlight, waving. The night had a chill to it. A misty circle formed an eerie halo around the light, matching Gwen's pretty green aura that all night I had perceived clean and bright around her. I waved and backed out of the driveway, "Grandma slow," I teased myself, accelerating up the dark, quiet street.
Lampposts formed hazy tents of light at even intervals along the road as I edged the car down Oak Street and onto Main. To my relief, the sense of presence that I'd felt earlier began to recede, a feeling that I was leaving an unseen gathering of watchers behind in Gwen's backyard.
I slowed the car to a halt at the traffic light where Main Street met Brewster Avenue, feeling as ridiculous as I always did when I stopped for red lights late at night, when no one else was in the vicinity. A light fog had gathered in the trees behind the T-intersection, forming dreamlike rifts in the darkness. I felt a strange sense of déjà vu, thinking back to the night of the accident and the long car ride home. I would be glad to be home, safely tucked in bed.
The traffic light flashed green and I started to turn left onto Brewster when something caught my eye. It was the figure of a teenage girl standing in the street, just off to the side of the intersection. Even in the dim light, I could make out her torn jeans and the hooded sweatshirt flipped up over her head. Her features were just visible where the edge of my headlights touched the side of the girl's face. Dark tufts of black hair framed a pale, somber expression. Her eyes were two black holes masked in shadow. She wasn't doing anything, just standing there, motionless, staring at me.
When the girl's eyes brightened in the glare of my headlamps, our gazes connected, as if the girl could see me, even in the darkened cab. I felt an instant connection with her. There was something imploring in her expression, as if she was reaching out to me for help.
That first jolt of seeing someone standing, where they had no business standing, quickly turned to pity. It made me think of myself stranded at the party all those months ago, relying on strangers for help. Here I sat, facing a girl who might be in exactly the same situation that I'd been in. For just a second I had the impulse to stop and ask if she was okay, maybe even offer her a ride, but whatever charitable instinct had possessed me quickly gave way to a commonsense left turn onto Brewster. I felt utterly relieved to step on the gas and accelerate away.
I avoided the turnpike, driving northeast on Milltown Road over the border into Connecticut, then southeast down into Danbury. I was still skittish of traffic, especially at night, and though this route would take maybe ten minutes longer, it kept me sane.
The fog thickened the farther I moved into the country. It condensed in misty clusters of grey before tattering away to clear patches, when the silvery curtain parted long enough to reveal the road for short stretches.
I'd worried that the trip home would be filled with flashbacks of the accident and the moments leading up to it, but now I found myself thinking back to the girl in the street. Who was she? Had she really needed help? I couldn't shake the girl from my head.
As I made my way into Danbury, the fog thinned to the consistency of a soft, swirling haze. I took the car off the main road and onto the sleepy side streets leading home. Just a few more blocks now.
It was too late to call Gwen tonight, but in the morning I would e-mail her. It was a huge relief to share the story of my otherworldly experience at last. Who else but Gwen could I trust? Gwen knew me well enough not to think I was crazy, but if something had gone wrong, I wouldn't have to face her right away. I still didn't know how she'd react when I told her about the disembodied voice of Jenny, but I had the feeling Gwen would accept it with the same unblinking cool she had tonight. Finally, I'd have someone to talk to and help me figure all this out.
I eased into the driveway and put the car in park. The big old house looked dark and asleep, but I knew better. Mom would be waiting to hear the front door open and my footsteps climbing the stairs. I was kind of keen to hear those sounds myself.
I made my way up the walkway through the gloom, fumbling with my keys at the front door, when something drew my attention back to the car. It might have been the clicking sound of the engine cooling, or the indefinite shuffling of shoes on gravel, or a dim movement out of the corner of my eye. Whatever it had been, I wasn't prepared for what looked back at me.
There, standing a few feet away from the car, in perfectly solid, three-dimensional clarity, was the hooded girl I'd left fourteen miles behind in Brewster, studying me from the road.
Chapter Four
Cali
Sacramento, California
August 19
I lifted my feet out in front of me and examined the white toes of my sneakers, admiring the four-pointed star I'd doodled there with an indelible black pen. I sat on my hands. Fidgeted. Chewed my stainless-steel lip ring. Come on, already. Let's get on with it.
An antique mantle clock counted out the silence, echoing through the large house. My eyes shot from the finely upholstered furniture to the coffered ceilings and fancy trimwork. A dusty shaft of morning light fell on a tall vase of lilies and a heavily lacquered table, throwing spidery shadows on the wine-colored Persian rug. Man, this place must have cost a butt-load of cash.
It was like a high-end design magazine had taken a dump in here. It was beautiful, don't get me wrong, even kind of peaceful. At the same time it was hard to imagine that anyone actually lived here. This wasn't the sort of place you kicked off your shoes, flopped on the couch and watched TV. It was more like a museum. I half-expected to see velvet ropes crossing the front of open doorways. Look but don't touch.
Alice strode in bearing a silver tray. She was just the sort of woman you'd imagine living here. Her pastel linen suit was more fitting for a Sunday brunch at a fancy hotel or giving a Bible reading in church than a lazy Saturday at home. Maybe fifty years old, she might even have been pretty if not for her failed struggle to look twenty-five.
She placed the tray on the coffee table in front of me and poured a glass of ice water into a heav
y, etched-crystal tumbler. The cost of her manicure alone might have paid for this month's phone bill. Her garnet ring was easily my dad's house payment.
"Have you ever had a reading before?" she asked, sitting back and weaving a smile.
I took an obligatory sip of water and set down the glass. "Nope."
"And how did you hear about us?" Alice had an accent she strained to disguise. I couldn't quite place it.
"My boyfriend's sister is an intern at Exquisite Interiors," I said. "They helped you with your bedroom."
Alice grinned but said nothing. She seemed to be taking me in, scrutinizing me like a butterfly collector just before smothering her specimen with chloroform.
As usual, I was wearing thick mascara and eyeliner that blended in with my dark brown eyes. My little brother used to call me Raccoon Girl, but I liked the effect. People said it made me hard to read. Like wearing sunglasses.
"My niece has certain rules," Alice said, as if talking to a child. "They must be strictly followed. First, you are not to speak unless she asks you a question. She frequently asks rhetorical questions. Those are questions that one asks to which one does not expect an answer. Only respond to her if she looks directly at you and then only answer with a 'yes' or a 'no' or an 'I do not know.' She does not like to get feedback unless it is to clarify that what she is saying makes sense to you. Do you understand?"
I swallowed the impulse to wipe my sweaty palms on the surface of Alice's silk couch. I opted for my jeans instead. "Sure."
"Her sessions can last as long as an hour or finish in as quickly as five minutes. Sometimes no one comes through at all. It varies greatly."
"Sure."
"If there is someone in particular with whom you wish to communicate, please keep it to yourself. Sometimes he or she will come through, sometimes it will be someone else entirely. Expectations only lead to disappointment."
