by Brian Mercer
I lay perfectly still, as I'd been trained to do. Dreams were best remembered in the same position as they happened. Something about body memory. I fought through hazy darkness to find key words to describe my experience: Hole. Girls. Cold. Terror. Mob. Sister. Do I have a sister? No. No sister. Dream. Only a dream.
I remembered Jenny's voice. What had she said? I tried to pull the words out of the fog but they hovered just out of my grasp. Had they been spoken in my dream or had Jenny been at my bedside, whispering in my ear?
I reached for my dream diary on the bedside table, a journal that all us students at Waltham were supposed to keep. I felt my lamp and the half-drained glass of water that I'd put there the night before, but no journal. Irritated, I sat up, blinking in the dark. I scanned the floor near my nightstand. Nothing.
Slumping back into my feather pillows, I winced at the soreness that spread through my legs, butt, and back. How can horseback riding hurt this much? I eased gently onto my side, tugged the covers up to my ears and dozed until I heard movement in the sitting room. The door to the outer hallway opened and closed — Cali leaving early for her morning astral projection class. Sometime later, Sara got up to use the bathroom. The morning routine had begun.
I rose stiffly, wrangled my hair into a ponytail, and pulled on my sweat clothes. My muscles protested every movement. Shuffling bowlegged out into the sitting room, I spotted Nicole on the sofa paging through a magazine, looking way too put-together for this hour of the morning. I was hobbling over to join her when I spotted a notebook on the mantle.
I looked closer. "My dream journal." I held it up so Nicole could see. "Did you put this here?" She shook her head.
"I was sure I'd left it on my nightstand before I went to bed."
Nicole closed her magazine and looked at me knowingly. "I think we might have a problem."
This hadn't been the first item in our rooms that had been moved around without apparent explanation. We'd each had things go missing in the last three weeks. It had started with one of my hairbrushes, which was later discovered in Nicole and Cali's bathroom. Not long after, several of Nicole's fashion magazines disappeared from her dresser, to later be recovered from under my bed. Sara lost a pair of red ballet flats that were still missing. When Cali found her mascara and eyeliner in Sara and my bathroom earlier this week, it touched off our first serious argument, when Cali accused me of borrowing her eye makeup without permission. The tension between Cali and me was still running a little high, even now, three days later.
"You think our little ghostly friend is back?" I asked.
"Well, I don't think our stuff is growin' legs. Somethin' is takin' our things and tryin' to get us to accuse each other."
"I think maybe it's working."
"Whatever this thing is, it figures if it can plant a little negative energy between us it will fester and grow and it will get a firmer foothold in our world."
"What are we gonna do?" I carefully lowered myself onto the sofa next to Nicole, cringing as my weight settled. "I don't want to tell Sir Alex or Mrs. Apple unless we have something better to go on than this. I still feel stupid for telling them about the noises upstairs."
"It's not like they won't believe us."
"They have some of the best sensitives in the world here and they never found anything."
"Okay, you might have a point. I just don't want us to start blamin' each other is all. If we all know what's happenin', we're less likely to point a finger at each other."
I'd worked some of the kinks out of my legs by the time Nicole, Sara, and I reached morning meditation, but I shuddered at the sight of our normal circle of hard wooden chairs. How was I was going to sit still for the next ninety minutes? Nicole also walked stiffly, but Sara, an experienced rider, skipped into the room and plopped into her chair, seemingly unaffected by our recent riding lesson.
Our lesson had been two days ago. Sara had outfitted us in the modern equivalent of a lady's riding habit: formfitting willow riding breeches, forest green wool riding jackets, creamy leather gloves, and high-point, black riding boots. It was kind of cute to see the four of us all dressed up to go riding, but I felt a little like a poser learning how to sit a horse, being led around the corral by a handsome young groomsman named Ian, when I looked like I should be galloping across the countryside leaping over hedges.
On Sara's advice, Cali had left her lip ring behind. She looked strangely feminine all dressed up. "You clean up good," Nicole teased in her finest West Georgia accent. Cali blushed brightly. She had tried to show a brave face, but you didn't need to be psychic to see she was meekly terrified.
"It'll be okay." I tried to reassure her. "This is my first time, too." And in a comical attempt to tempt fate, I'd added, "What could go wrong?"
Cali smiled stiffly, chuckling in spite of herself.
Sara had been a good teacher, showing us how to climb on, where to sit on the saddle, and how to hold the reins. Nicole's horse, Yorick, was a troublemaker. When Nicole put her boot into the stirrup, he'd began stepping to the side, forcing her to hop to keep up with him. Thankfully, I didn't have any trouble with Jasper, who seemed to like the way I petted his bristly neck and whispered in his ear. It had been strange to sit so tall and have something so big and alive under me. Jasper made happy horse sounds as we trotted around the pen, all the while secreting the pleasant odor of wet hay.
Strangely, Cali, who had at first seemed so afraid, took to it as if she'd been riding all her life. She hadn't needed much coaching on how to mount or the proper riding posture. Although I didn't have the intuitive connection with animals that Sara did, I could tell Cali's horse, Maestro, was — as Nicole later put it — "As happy as a cat in a ping-pong ball factory." Maestro bonded with Cali from the beginning. Even after only one lesson, he and Cali seemed to know and trust each other.
Now, two days later, I was standing in Meditation with my back to the fireplace, hoping the heat would soothe my tender muscles. Cali walked in, looking tired and beat up. She made eye contact with me but didn't smile, grimacing as she forced her stiff limbs toward her usual chair near the window.
Jean Paul walked into the room next, with Malina at his side. His dark green eyes scanned the room until he spotted me by the fire, then he dropped his gaze and hurried to the opposite end of the room, Malina trailing close behind. For the thousandth time, I cast out my psychic net, trying to get a sense of the nature of Jean Paul and Malina's relationship. They were always together. They ate meals, meditated, and took walks with each other, yet I'd never seen them hold hands or even touch each other, nothing to suggest they were anything but friends. I felt Malina's feelings for him but, with all my intuitive abilities, I found Jean Paul impossible to read.
I waited until the last possible moment before sitting down, biting my lips as my haunches came to rest on the hard meditation chair. As the others took their places, Mrs. Apple began narrating the energy-raising exercise, taking us through the usual routine of centering, grounding, and stimulating our energy bodies.
I couldn't stop fidgeting. I couldn't find a position that wasn't painful. Several times I opened my eyes to resettle and each time I caught Jean Paul peeking at me. He probably thought I had to pee. I could just imagine Malina and his comments over breakfast. "Did you see Becky squirming? Doesn't she know by now to go to the bathroom before class starts?"
I cracked an eye open again and, sure enough, Jean Paul was still watching me. He wore his typical aloof expression, a look that both made my knees weak and want to wipe the smirk off his face at the same time.
"Ooh-kay," Mrs. Apple said at last, "we're gonna practice a wee bit o' aura gazin'."
The class automatically stood and paired up with our meditation partners. I tried and failed to get up, slumping painfully back into my chair. Ravi, my assigned partner, hovered over me with a bright, mirthful smile. "You are too much horsing around?" He giggled at his own joke.
Ravi moved a chair so he could sit across from me. On
ce everyone was in place, the aura viewing began. You're not supposed to look at an aura; you gaze at it. Although I'd been seeing auras since I'd woke up from my car accident, I found that if I let my vision soften they came in brighter and more vivid. Trying to look directly at them only made them narrow and disappear.
For the past week we'd been honing the clairvoyant vision that allowed us to see the colorful energy fields, learning how to pick out the different subtle layers as they moved away from our bodies. The first layer, the one closest to the body, was usually the thickest and brightest, but the layers beyond it were narrower, sometimes the barest outline. Mrs. Apple was teaching us the meaning of their colors, by themselves and in combination, as well as how to spot illness or injury based on cloudy patches of grey or black. Last week, I'd seen a dull, horn-shaped mass bulging from Ravi's right knee, which turned out to correspond to an injury he’d suffered during a cricket match when he was twelve. The injury had recently flared up again in all the damp weather.
As I sat across from him now, with luminous morning sunlight slanting in from the windows, his aura bloomed brightly, a clear violet with a thin layer of gold tingeing its outer edges. I let my gaze grow soft and dreamy and started scanning for irregularities. Although my concentration was focused on Ravi, I still sensed Jean Paul's attention on me. It felt like a nagging mental image of him that I couldn't quite let go of. What was it? Jean Paul hadn't so much as glanced in my direction since the first day of class, over two months ago.
As if answering my question, Ravi's eyes widened and his ears, which projected sail-like from the sides of his head, twitched noticeably.
"What's wrong? Something I should know about?"
"No, it is nothing," he said, then seeming to think better of it, he added, "I thought I am seeing a dark shape standing behind you."
"Dark shape?"
"It is nothing."
"Tell me."
"For just a second I saw what is looking like a human shape just over your right shoulder." He gestured in the air beside him. "It is looking like a head and a neck and shoulders. It was black, like a shadow, but only for a second. Then it disappeared. You are having problems in your room again?"
"All's quiet. Mostly."
Ravi hummed contemplatively and shrugged, attempting a smile. "I am sure it was nothing."
****
I picked out a bottle of fizzy water from the trough of crushed ice. I wasn't thirsty but I wanted something to hold, something heavy and reassuring in my hand. My arm trembled slightly as I put the neck of the bottle to my lips and took a sip, scanning the sunny gardens around me. The party was just getting started and I wanted to find a secluded place where I could watch without being bothered.
The bubbly drink made me burp, louder than I'd intended. I looked around, hoping no one had heard.
These student mixers had been going on since we'd arrived at Waltham but I'd never attended one. Crowds still made me jittery. Even though the wall of unfiltered information no longer assaulted me the way it did back home, I still got overwhelmed if I was around too many people. Nicole and Sara always encouraged me to go with them to these gatherings, but it had been Cali, through no effort of her own, who finally convinced me to actually come. It always felt like Cali was judging me. Cali, whose brother had died in her arms. Cali, who'd watched her family crumble and everything she owned slip through her fingers. Who was I to her? A snotty rich girl who got spooked by even the slightest crowd. Just once I wanted to show a little backbone.
I moved along the buffet tables filled with traditional English fare: meat pies and breads and various cheeses; fresh produce, locally grown; little quiches and various French hors d'oeuvres. White-coated servers were circulating with glasses of wine and champagne. Old Becky would have jumped at the chance to partake of a little alcohol, but now it didn't seem like such a good idea.
I planted myself at the edge of the lawn, just outside the range of the shade. The late-afternoon sunlight was warm and pleasant, but it was still cold beneath the trees. As I took short sips from my bottle of fizzy water, Nicole walked over with a small plate of tiny salmon pastries. She looked charming in her floral dress, but wearing spring clothes didn't make it warm, and she shivered in the lingering April chill.
Nearby, Sara and Nigel stood feeding each other and giggling. It made me think of me and my first boyfriend, once upon a time, and I sighed longingly.
To my right and a little away from the gathering, Cali paced slowly back and forth, looking dark and brooding. I could sense a nervous tension leaking from her, even if no specific information came to me about what was bothering her, just a vague sense of her inner turmoil. Just focusing on her made me feel restless and keyed up. It had been more than a week since Cali and my confrontation over her eye makeup. She couldn't still be mad, could she? She knew it wasn't my fault.
The faint odor of freshly carved cedar wafted on an undercurrent of air. Jenny's familiar calling card. "He's co-o-o-o-oming," Jenny said in my ear. Even though I'd been expecting it, the sound made me jump and emit a tiny scream. From across the way, Cali gave me a dirty look.
I told you not to creep up on me like that when people are around, I told Jenny mentally. In private I liked to talk to Jenny out loud, but this wasn't the place or time. Okay, what's this all about? Who's coming?
"You know," Jenny said, "the one you've been waiting for."
Who have I been waiting for?
"You know, silly."
I was still trying to puzzle out who Jenny might mean when another voice, this one male, called my name from behind me. I jumped again, stifling a second cry, nearly crashing into Jean Paul, who had unintentionally snuck up on me.
"My apologies," he said in his halting English. "I did not mean to, mmm, astonish you."
I held up my hand and took a sip of fizzy water, stalling for time. "That's okay," I said, stifling another belch. "What do you want?" My voice sounded more abrupt than I'd intended.
Jean Paul looked a little off-balance now. "Oh, I was wondering, if you will, mmm, meet me at my table this evening at dinner."
"Ah, you know, I don't know if tonight is a good night for me," I answered without even a pause to suggest that I'd considered his invitation. I remember saying more after that, but I blocked out whatever I babbled. I recall only that I couldn’t seem to stop jabbering.
Jean Paul's face colored scarlet. He mumbled apologies for bothering me and slunk away.
"What did I just do?" I asked Nicole and Sara, who had arranged themselves on either side of me.
"I think you just turned down Jean Paul for a date," Nicole said.
"Is it too late to change my mind?" I asked, trying to make sense of what was happening.
"I don't think he's fixin' on repeatin' that performance any time soon," Nicole answered.
"I don't know," said Sara. "He was very brave. He might try again."
Nicole and I looked at each other. "No, I don't think so," we said simultaneously, giggling. Nicole put her arm around me and hugged me.
I managed a smile despite my goof with Jean Paul. I was so happy to have friends again, real friends. I was still lost in that welcome feeling when a hot wave of emotion hit me with such force that it nearly knocked me down. The wave was filled with rage, jealousy, envy, and anger, feverish anger. It came from the edge of the gathering, from where Cali stood.
The sensation was intense, like a dagger in my heart. My eyes filled with tears and I began to sob, loudly and uncontrollably. The partygoers, some four dozen students, teachers, and administrative staff, immediately silenced and looked in my direction as abruptly as if a waiter had dropped a tray of dishes. All that attention, suddenly centered on me, filled me to overflowing. My vision grew white, my body numb, and everything around me took on a muffled and remote quality.
When I could see again, I was sitting in a chair with my head between my knees. A nurse was talking to me, asking simple questions, which I eventually began answering. I just
wanted to lie down. I just wanted to be left alone. Someone explained that I'd passed out, but it took a few minutes for the information to sink in. I was carted off to the infirmary, where I was given something to drink. After a few tests the nurse, Miss Carter, pronounced me fit and with a fistful of iron supplements, I was sent back to my room.
****
"Ah, Becky, there you are. Come in. Come in." Sir Alex set his book down on the small table near his reading chair and waved me inside. "Please, mind these idlers and layabouts." He gestured with his pipe to the basset hound and beagles asleep near his feet. The closest animal studied me drowsily before resettling closer to the flickering hearth and falling back to sleep.
"Please take a seat," he said, indicating the wingback chair across from his. "Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Cocoa? Warm milk?"
"No, nothing for me. Thank you."
"You're feeling better?"
"I'm still kind of a spaz, if you really want to know."
"Still a little lightheaded? Crowds still making you uneasy?"
"Yeah, something like that. I'm better than I was when I used to go into New York, but I'm still not really comfortable when there's a lot of people around."
"I wish I could tell you that Waltham had some sort of magical power to sort out everything that's happened to you. That will take practice and patience and time."
"But I thought... I just assumed... is there no way to treat this? Is there no way to turn this off?"
Sir Alex gazed at me wistfully, compassion gleaming in his deep brown eyes. "Is that really what you want, Becky? To make it all go away?"
"I would if I could."
Sir Alex watched me pensively, puffing on his pipe. Something about his tweed clothing and the spicy scent of the blue tobacco smoke made me think of an old, tenured professor.
"Becky, would you retrieve that file there on my desk?"
"This one?"
"No, that one. The grey one. Thank you."
