My grandpa put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to his chest. I thought this dream would be a revelation to him, but the calmness in his eyes said it was not. “You’ve heard this before?”
“Yes, I have,” he said. “Being Twins, Maera and I were very close. The week leading up to her death she had started acting very strangely. Normally she was a happy, excitable person, but suddenly she started staying mostly to herself. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she brushed me off. All she would say was that she had been having bad dreams at night.
“After Katie died I was packing up her room and I came across her diary.” He smiled warmly. “I probably shouldn’t have opened it, but I just wanted to know what she had been feeling and thinking before she died. I wanted to feel close to her. I was shocked to read about the dreams she was having, how they scared her and kept her awake at nights. They sound like the same dreams you just described. I wish she had told me about the dreams then. Maybe it would have made a difference. Who can know? She didn’t even tell your father.”
I simply stared at him. Had all the girls shared these awful dreams? The connection I felt to them just kept getting stronger. I hoped that did not mean that I would share their fate as well. I could try to deny what my grandfather was telling me, but I knew there was no use. My head sagged. My hands came up to rub my arms once again. The cold foreboding feeling refused to give way.
“I’m so sorry, Arra,” he said. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. I’ll help you with anything you need. We’ll find some way to stop this. We won’t give up.” He was crying as he held me. I think I was too.
I didn’t think he believed his words any more than I did, but I tried to hope there would be a way to free me. Despair washed over us as we cradled each other. I wished again that I had never seen Katie’s photo. I wished I had never left New York and found any of this. Pulling closer to my grandpa, I knew that in two days none of what I had learned would matter anyway.
Chapter Thirteen
The rest of the morning was spent looking through old journals, photo albums, and anything else that might help me, or at least take my mind off the dreams. I knew how those would end. I doubted that we would find the key to saving myself in my grandpa’s book shelves, but I could not stand to sit idle. In the end, though, the lure of the dreams Katie and I had shared became too strong to resist. My grandpa was reluctant to let me see it. Finally, after an endless amount of begging, he handed over Katie’s diary.
I read, captivated at seeing my own dreams dictated by another’s hand. The events were exactly the same, as were the feelings they stirred. Katie described the dreams in words different than I might have used, but the closeness I felt to my dead aunt overruled the years between us. Turning the pages hungrily, I was sorely let down when I reached the end of the diary. Katie had not finished recording the dreams. They stopped three days before she died with the happiest comment she had made in the week prior to her birthday. “Robert is coming home today. I can’t wait to see him.” And then it ended, the rest of the pages left empty. Disappointed, I went back to the beginning of the dreams, hoping for something that might help me.
***
May 28th, 1979
I don’t know if it’s just my anticipation for having Robert come home from college or what, but I woke up this morning crying because of this awful dream I had last night. I think it was a dream of me living in some kind of hut in the jungle. It was really weird. I was wearing this old time Spanish looking dress and sleeping on a pallet.
This older man, I guess he was supposed to be my dad, and I were asleep when a noise woke me up. Someone was pounding on the door of our tiny house. I didn’t know what was happening so I just pulled my blankets up and crouched against the wall. The old man rushed to the door and braced himself against it. Whoever was trying to get in, he knew they were going to hurt us.
I was freaking out, yelling at him to tell me what was going on. I kept asking him what was happening and what they wanted with us but he just told me to hide over and over again. He said they’d take me if I didn’t hide. I was so scared I couldn’t even move. I just kept huddling on my bed and crying.
When the door started to break, the old man screamed at me to hide again. He looked so terrified that I finally got the courage to jump off the bed. I ran for the only real piece of furniture in the little house. It was a big wooden cupboard that was just high enough off the ground to let me slip under it. I curled up on the floor, tucking in every part of me and tried to shut out the sounds around me. It didn’t work though. I could still hear the banging, the splintering wood, and the old man yelling for someone to help us.
Suddenly I heard the door break and the men outside ran in, demanding the old man give me to them. I had to cover my mouth to keep them from hearing me crying. The old man told them to get out of our house but they didn’t listen. They pushed past him and started ransacking the house. They knocked over chairs and tossed the bed I had been sleeping in as they searched for me. I could hear the old man’s voice as they searched, begging them to leave and threatening to kill them if they didn’t. He was an old man, though. They just laughed at him and pushed him out of their way.
He went back to begging then, telling them I was all he had left. They didn’t care. They kept saying I belonged to the gods, not him. I had no idea what they were talking about but they were acting so insane that I knew they were going to kill me.
I think one of them figured out where I was then because I saw someone’s feet running toward me. The old man tried to stop him but someone else hit him with something. I could hear the bone crack. I screamed when he fell down in front of me. Blood poured off his face, making me feel like I was going to puke. I had forgotten the men around me because of the blood, but they hadn’t forgotten me.
Hands grabbed me and yanked at me. I screamed as I tried to wriggle out of their grasp but I wasn't strong enough. It only took a few seconds before they pulled me out and grabbed my arms and legs. I begged them to let go of me.
Nobody listened to me.
They threw a bag over my head and pulled it down until I was completely covered. The dust from the bag made me cough so hard I couldn’t scream anymore. The last thing I remembered before waking up in my bed was blinding pain as someone hit me over the head.
I was so scared after I woke up that I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was a zombie all day today. I really hope I get a better night’s sleep tonight. Robert will be home soon and I don’t want to be a tire grouch for his visit. He loves to tease me about stuff like that.
Love,
Katie
***
After rereading only the first entry, I closed the book again. Remembering the fear was too much. Just as Katie had, when I woke up from the first dream, I had thought it was simply a nightmare, a vision of me living a different life entirely. Then the second dream came the next night where I saw what I again thought was myself being dragged away from the little town towards the towering city. Then came the washing and painting.
With every new dream I believed less and less that I was seeing myself in those nightmares. The feeling I got from them was no vague fear of the unknown, it was a pinpointed warning. And there was nothing new in Katie’s account. She saw exactly what I saw. I had gone over those dreams so many times trying to figure them out but it was no use. Leaving the book on the coffee table, I went to look for my grandpa. Maybe he had found something useful.
Sitting on the floor of his guest room, my grandpa was staring at photos of his daughter. He had a lot more than my mom did. Katie on one of the horses she loved so much. Katie building a sand castle at the beach. Katie graduating from elementary school. Katie posing with a group of friends. Her cheerful smile shining bright in every one of them. I wondered what she looked like during that last week. Did her smile fade just as her life was about to?
Suddenly my grandpa realized I was standing behind him and set the photos back down.
“Are you hungry?” I asked. “I could use a break.”
It didn’t take much to convince him to abandon the books and go have a sandwich with me in the kitchen. I knew it was difficult for him to be dragging all of this back up. No doubt he had search through everything in his house to find some way to end this, but he wanted to search it all again. I wanted to believe I would find something in the books, but what could Katie have known that I didn’t? In the end the headache caused by hours of reading the looping handwriting convinced us both to stop.
The meal was simple, turkey and cheese on wheat bread, but I savored it. Beginning to feel like every move I made might be my last, I pushed myself to enjoy every second to the fullest. My grandpa on the other hand ate his sandwich as if he barely even tasted it. The silent kitchen was abruptly disturbed by a hesitant knock. My grandpa came back to the present and looked around the room. He glanced out the kitchen window, looking into the street. A late model Chevy pickup was parked at the curb.
“I wonder who that could be,” he said.
“Oh, shoot,” I exclaimed, “I totally forgot he was coming.”
“A friend of yours?”
“Yeah. I kind of forgot we made plans for today,” I admitted. Standing up, I brushed the crumbs from my sandwich off my pant legs. Hurriedly, I scooped the pictures and papers I had brought with me off the table and into my backpack. Shouldering the bag, I turned back to my grandpa and hesitated.
“Do you want me to tell him you’re not here?” he asked, looking a little unsure about what he was proposing.
“No, Grandpa, it’s fine. But would you call my mom and let her know where I’m going?”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Um.” I hesitated. “Archery lessons. But please don’t mention that part to her. She’ll have a fit.” I moved toward the front door.
“Arra,” he said disapprovingly.
“Grandpa, I’ll be perfectly safe, don’t worry. Just tell Mom I’m with Tanner Wheeler, okay?”
“Alright, but if she finds out, I’ll say I didn’t know a thing,” he said, giving in with a smile and a brief shake of his head.
The knock came again, a little louder. My grandpa finally opened the door. “Good afternoon, Tanner. How’s your mother doing?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Malo. She’s just fine, sir. Uh, is Arra here?” Tanner asked awkwardly.
This was a new side of Tanner I had not seen before. So full of confidence the last two times I had seen him, I watched him fiddle with a stray string on his jeans pocket. I wanted to laugh at the thought of my sweet old grandpa making anybody nervous. He was much more like to force cookies on someone than do anything even close to intimidating. My mood lifted slightly, just enough to make me glad I had not ditched out on the date.
“Why yes she is, young man. Come on in,” my grandpa said. The kind smile he gave Tanner gave no hint that he thought the young man’s behavior was at all funny. He pulled the door open a little wider.
Straightening my clothes, I swatted at few straggling bread crumbs before stepping around the corner. “Hey, Tanner. Thanks for picking me up.”
“Sure,” he replied. His eyes drifted towards my grandfather. He didn’t seem to know whether he was required to stay for a few minutes to be polite, or whether he could leave without embarrassing himself.
I considered prolonging his uncertainty, but could not bring myself to do it. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” he said, his expression changing to one of relief. “It was nice to see you again, Mr. Malo.”
“You too, Tanner. Tell your mom hello for me.”
“Don’t forget to call my mom,” I reminded him.
“Just be careful, or we’ll both be in trouble with her,” my grandpa said seriously.
I nodded my agreement and headed for Tanner’s truck.
Chapter Fourteen
The drive out to Tanner’s favorite archery spot was soothing. Tanner’s earlier nervousness disappeared as soon as we reached the truck. We talked about our families easily, and Tanner told me more about Grainer and why it wasn’t that bad of a place to live. The more I was with him, the less I cared about whether or not Grainer was as fascinating as I had thought Manhattan was. When the list of things to do in Grainer ran out it seemed to fall to me to pick up the conversation.
“So Evan and Jackson didn’t feel like coming with us today?” I asked.
“They were busy,” Tanner said quickly. “Chores or something.”
“Both of them?”
“Yeah, I guess. So it’s just the two of us.” As soon as he had said it, Tanner must have realized that I might take it too mean he was trying to get me alone with him and blushed fiercely. Making an effort to backpedal, Tanner only worsened his predicament. “I mean, no that we have to be alone if you don’t want to. That’s not what I meant, of course.”
I pretended not to notice his embarrassment, which proved very easy. “No, it’s fine,” I said. “I was just teasing. Actually I’d rather not have to listen to Evan laughing at me again.” Tanner’s easy smile returned as we fell into a semi comfortable silence.
Pulling up to the meadow where I first met Tanner I was excited for the chance to spend more time with him, but the quiet allowed the dreams and photos to creep back in. I wondered how I was going to make it through the rest of the afternoon. I could hardly focus on anything but the morning’s confessions once they took hold of me again. Feeling guilty about even accepting the invitation considering my current situation, I still did not want to show my uneasiness to Tanner.
I forced myself to pretend it was a week earlier, before the dreams, before the photos, and especially before the stories. The darkness still lingered in my mind, but I found a small corner free of any other concern where I could focus. Tanner climbed out the cab and went to the truck bed where he had the targets and bows stored. I calmed my features and smiled before climbing out of the pickup as well.
“Are you ready?” Tanner asked.
“I think the real question is, are you ready,” I teased. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Tanner laughed. “You’ll do fine. Here,” he said, pulling a bow, much smaller than his own, out of the truck bed and handing it to me. “This one’s for you. My sister doesn’t use it much anymore.”
Accepting the bow, I considered its size. “Just how old is your sister? Six?”
“Well you wanted a smaller bow,” Tanner said, trying to keep his face straight.
I threw him a disgusted looked. I wasn’t that bad, was I?
“I’m just kidding. My sister’s thirteen. But bow length is more about height than age,” he said. “And you’re kind of short.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I grumbled. His nearly six foot frame did make my minimal five foot four inches rather unimpressive. I was actually on the tall side for my family. Tanner ruffled my hair to emphasize his point. I socked him in the arm, only halfway meaning it.
“Sorry, sorry,” Tanner apologized. The dazzling grin he gave me somewhat diminished his sincerity. “Really, this bow will be much easier for you to draw.”
“If you say so,” was my only response.
I watched as Tanner set up the targets towards the back of the meadow. He arranged the cubes with practiced ease and loped back to me.
“Alright, do you remember how to hold the bow,” Tanner asked.
I considering saying no, remembering how closely he had to stand to me in order to help me last time. Bright spots of red blossomed on my cheeks at the thought though and I refrained. “I think I remember,” I said. Placing my hand on the riser, I noticed how much lighter the new bow felt. I didn’t know what to do next unfortunately.
Suddenly Tanner was next to me, tying a quiver of arrows around my waist. His fingertips brushed my thigh as he placed it around me and I had to hide a shudder. “You might need these,” Tanner said, straightening. He turned away quickly, but I could the red in his ears. Faking a cough to cover the laugh that
had escaped, I didn’t say anything. I was just glad I wasn’t the only nervous one. Tanner was proving a better distraction than I had expected.
Pulling an arrow out of my quiver, I stared at it. How had this part worked again, I wondered. I had played cowboys and Indians with my brother when we were younger, but my brother’s plastic bow and arrow set had been equipped with suction cup ends and a convenient hole in the bow for the arrow to slide through. Unsure of how I was supposed to keep the arrow from falling into the dirt, I turned to Tanner. “So, um, how do I get the arrow ready again?” My question seemed to dispel Tanner’s awkwardness instantly.
Taking control, Tanner showed me how to grip the end of the arrow and rest the point on the top of the hand gripping the riser. His hands moved mine into place, but his soft touch and radiating warmth made my fingers slip. After several tries I managed to hold the arrow on my own, keeping it tight against the bow.
“Go ahead and try to draw it now,” Tanner said.
Unsure of my abilities, I pulled back slowly. I was surprised by how easily the arrow moved this time. My mouth turned up. I pulled a little harder, drawing the arrow to my ear. Pleased with my effort, I grinned and turned to look at Tanner. My grip slipped. The arrow flew wide of the target, flying into the trees. Wincing with embarrassment I ducked my head. Tanner laughed and I joined him.
“I’ll go get it,” I said, a bit deflated by my failure.
Setting the bow down, I trudged through the tall grass. Tanner followed me into the trees. “You might need a little help finding it,” he said. “That was a good try, though.”
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