I smiled, glad to be so high up, and sat down on the bench, so I could focus on the rest of the room. A few boxes were scattered around, but mostly, it was empty, except for a large, forgotten bed in the far corner, and a brick chimney, which was in the center of the room. Ellen went over to the bed and plopped down familiarly. The grey light filtering in from the dirty window opposite me cast strange shadows on her face. The pain was still etched in her round face, but she smiled, changing the darkness of the shadows dancing on her face.
“I hope you don’t mind using my old bed.” She patted it fondly causing another puff of dust to circle in the air.
“I don’t mind in the slightest.”
Like that mattered to me! I would have space – this room was larger than the entirety of our last apartment – and I would have privacy. While I didn’t mind being around Ellen, privacy was something I always enjoyed and craved – especially lately.
“Do you like it?”
Her thoughts rushed about the space in chaotic waves as she tried to focus on the present and suppress the past. One thought in particular caught my attention. Please say it’s good even if you hate it, I need something to be good for you here.
I smiled at her, genuinely pleased that I didn’t have to stretch the truth. “I love it. It almost makes up for moving.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Almost.”
She jumped off the bed, her good humor back. “I’m glad!” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Almost.” She hugged me fiercely and kissed my cheek, a silent thank you for being here for her and for ending my reign of the scowl. “I guess we’d better get the things out of the car before it starts to rain,” she added.
“Yeah,” I agreed, already moving to the stairs.
We passed through the house silently, and I felt Ellen slowly unwind, something about our conversation relaxing her. At the landing of the first floor she was almost back to normal, normal enough to be worried about her stomach.
“I’m starving,” she said as we walked out the front door together. “What do you say to Chinese?”
“They have takeout here?” I asked skeptically.
“Of course they do. Just because this is a small town doesn’t mean it’s archaic!”
I turned and looked at her in disbelief. She laughed as she walked around me to unlock the trunk of the wagon. “Okay, okay! They have takeout at least.”
“Great!”
As I unloaded the car, and Ellen talked in my ear to keep my thoughts off tomorrow, I could feel the neighbors’ eyes on me, following my every movement. I didn’t have to stretch my imagination very far to wonder what these steadfast, unchanging, country folk thought of the strange looking Punk girl moving in next door. I knew for a fact what they were thinking. I sighed and lugged another bag onto my shoulder thinking that in any other town I would be invisible.
After I finished piling everything into the living room, Ellen ordered Chinese food as promised, and we put on the Chiller Channel to “Evil Dead,” one of our favorite movies. We laughed over the horrendous special effects and made fun of the actors as we ate our better-than-expected food.
When we finished dinner, we started the process of unpacking and cleaning. It would take weeks, really, to make this place feel like a home again, but after a couple hours of hard work it began to look like a real house rather than the forgotten memory of one. The cobwebs and dust motes were gone, at least.
After I had arranged my room with some spare furniture from downstairs, and cleaned off the dirty windows, I went to the window seat and looked out into the darkness. Ellen’s thoughts were dimmed by the floor separating us, and for the first time in hours I had a reprieve from my curse. I was just starting to relax, managing to forget about my anxiety for tomorrow, when I heard a much different thought than Ellen’s. It was rough, filled with excitement. She’s here! It worked!
I sat up, the strength of the voice alarming. I craned my neck to see below. Was someone trying to break into the house? Dark shadows cast swaying branches on the abandoned dark lawn. There was no one. Yet, the voice continued.
Lady Cassandra will want to know… The eager voice trailed away.
I waited for a moment, straining to hear more. The sudden silence was repressive. Strange…I rubbed at the goose bumps on my arm and put my feet on the floor, adrenaline surging through me. Should I call the police? I laughed at the thought, and shook my head. And tell them what? I heard a scary thought?
Searching for an answer in my large room, I caught sight of the alarm clock by my bed. My stomach sank around the weirdness of the thought I’d just heard. It was time for bed.
As I brushed my teeth in the small bathroom at the other end of the hall, I realized I wouldn’t get much sleep. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect to look forward to but pacing around would only keep Ellen up. She had an important day tomorrow, too. It was her first day at the law office where she would act as secretary for the same lawyer who had tracked us down to tell us about the will. His old secretary had quit during his search for us, and he had told Ellen the job was hers if she decided to move back. I had thought it funny he would hold a job for her, but the blush in her cheeks when I asked her about it was enough to let me know that Sam Lawson, lawyer to the people of King’s Cross North Carolina, and Ellen had a longer history than I had thought.
I said goodnight to Ellen, trying to hide how upset I was about tomorrow, and went upstairs to dwell as quietly as I could.
I crawled into bed and listened to the sound of rain whooshing through the night air for a while. Here, at the apex of the house, the rain seemed very close, almost as if there were no walls separating me from the storm. I would never have admitted it to anyone, but it was a bit scary how the shadows stretched the length of the long room, how the trees made odd shapes on my walls, and how the rain, aided by the chilly wind, tore angrily into the side of the house. With the neglect I had noticed earlier, and the shadows that danced around my room, it felt as if I was in a haunted house. It didn’t help that Ellen was acting haunted by being here.
For the first time since driving into this tiny, God-forsaken town, I felt my emotions threatening to unravel and betray me. Not able to stand it, I threw off the covers and went over to the window seat, figuring if I could see the trees that were casting shadows on my walls I would calm down long enough to get some sleep. I didn’t hear any more strange thoughts coming from my lawn, just the rush of wind and popping of wood.
As I sat there looking over the swaying trees, my knees tight against my chest, I came to the resolution that I wouldn’t let this place, this town, beat me. I was stronger than that.
I pressed my head against the frosted glass, not knowing what to expect but resolved in the knowledge that one way or another I would deal with it.
I always did.
Chapter 2
My night was miserable. When I finally got tired enough to fall asleep, I dreamed of getting to school late and kept going into the wrong classrooms. No one would tell me where I was supposed to be and all the other students stared at me, judging me with their cold, uncaring eyes. It was enough to make anyone wake in a cold sweat.
As I lingered over breakfast, chewing over the depressed thoughts as much as my cereal, Ellen came barreling into the kitchen, searching frantically through all the drawers. I whistled in appreciation when I saw her, and grinned at her pink dress suit. Her messy brown hair was pulled back in an elegant bun, and I even detected a bit of makeup on her perfect face.
“You look hot, Mom!” I told her.
She laughed, preoccupied with whatever she was looking for. “I feel ridiculous!” She turned to me, her wide, round eyes perplexed. “You haven’t seen my keys have you?”
“They’re in your jacket.” I paused, listening to her thoughts. “Your jacket is in the living room.”
“Thanks!” She hesitated on her way out of the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t mind walking to school? It’s just that I have to be at the office pretty early…”
>
“I don’t mind,” I assured her for the millionth time.
She twisted her hands in anxiety. “You’re sure?”
“Yes!” I laughed. “Go! You’re going to be late.”
“But…are you sure you remember how to get there?”
I gave her my best stern look.
“Mom. I didn’t get lost in New York or L.A. I won’t get lost here…I’ll be fine.”
Outwardly, at least.
She smiled, not deceived in the slightest, and gave me wishes for a good first day before rushing out of the house. After she left, I washed my bowl in the sink, with extra care, trying to decide what to do with the time I had before school. I didn’t want to sit around the house waiting for it to be my time to go. I definitely didn’t want to be late and have my nightmare become a reality, but I didn’t want to get to school too early either. Trying to decide what to do, not liking any of my options, I walked out into the hallway and spotted the picture Ellen had been so affected by. Curious, welcoming the distraction, I stepped closer to examine it.
It was a colored photograph of a large group of people standing around the long table I had seen in the dining room. It looked like one of those Thanksgiving dinners I had seen on television. Ellen and I always ate out for Thanksgiving. Looking at the picture, I could tell why she was so against formal Thanksgivings. They reminded her of home.
My eyes roamed across the people in the photograph in excited wonder. I could see my features in the faces I saw. One woman had my heart shaped face – another had my high cheek bones. And one man, who was lurking in the corner trying not to be seen, looked like he had my button nose. I searched for my eyes, grey and stormy, but I didn’t see them in the mass of faces. All the people in the picture had the same eyes as Ellen – a dark, chocolate brown. I touched the picture, almost as affected as Ellen had been, but for a different reason. I knew the truth now. I knew that my eyes were my father’s eyes.
I had never met him – he had left before I was born and had never tried to contact us – so I had no way of comparing our eyes. Ellen had never described him to me, and I felt awkward asking her questions about something that was obviously still painful for her. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know. Not only had he abandoned us, but he left knowing what my life would be like, what my curse was. He had left knowing how much danger Ellen and I would be in simply because I was alive. I resented him for that.
I moved down the hall to a large gilded mirror and looked at my reflection, wondering what else was his, hating the connection to him. I categorized my pale skin, my nose, and my dark hair, which I had styled in spikes at the front, trying to see similarities to a person I had never met.
No… I looked too much like the people in the photograph, except for the eyes. I squinted at the objects in question, wishing suddenly, despite my anger at him, that I knew the person who had given me the oval shape, the grey color. At least if I knew him, I would have answers; I would know more than I knew now.
I turned away from the mirror and the picture – which I now understood was my mother’s family, my family – and went upstairs to get my school things, coming to the conclusion that whatever the day of school threw at me, it couldn’t be worse than hating my own father for abandoning me, and in turn, hating that part of me that was his.
The light was dull over the purplish-blue horizon, casting everything in long shadows as I walked into the wind. I wrapped my jacket tighter as I stepped off the porch, wishing for the warmth of Savannah, our latest stop-over. Even in the dim light from the rising sun, I could tell that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was strange, so different from the boiling storm of yesterday.
I turned off our street, shivering slightly from the wind, as I dwelt on my father. I couldn’t stop thinking about what else was his. Did I act like him? I knew I didn’t act like Ellen; she was too carefree, too emotional, and almost more organic in her actions than I was. I thought too much. I internalized too much.
I rounded the corner onto the main street through town, which coincidentally enough was called ‘Main Street’, and the stately houses faded abruptly into the brick buildings that made up downtown. The shops were dark and silent; the streets empty save for the occasional car. My thoughts as dark as the morning, I trudged up a hearty hill in search of the school.
Couldn’t he at least have shown up once to explain the things Ellen couldn’t? Couldn’t he have written me a note to tell me why I was a freak, or explain why he had left? Couldn’t he have explained why he let me be born? Couldn’t he have told me one thing? I gnawed on my lip, my temper starting to rise a little. Why was that too much to ask?
Spotting a large obvious sign on the crest of another hill that read “King’s Cross High School: Go Saints!” I bumped back down to earth. I pushed the anger aside for the moment as the irony of that sign hit me. Saints? Of what? Chuckling sarcastically, I looked across the short sloping lawn to the large trees which flanked either side of the brick buildings, then to the school itself. The main building, the largest of the three buildings, was huge, its façade stately and positively reeking with southern charm. Large white columns, which were spaced at regular intervals, beckoned unwitting students in to the innocent-looking school.
Resigned to my fate, the feeling of martyrdom settling into my gut, I walked up the grassy slope and crossed the lawn. I shoved the large door open with an unhappy grunt and looked around the oppressive, uniform, and deserted corridor. I was instantly unsure of where to go, my dream haunting my footsteps. Luckily, I saw the sign. As I followed bold arrows with the words ‘Main Office’ above them, I wondered idly why a school this size would have signs while my last school, which was three times bigger, hadn’t.
I stopped when the arrows ran out at a small cluttered office with a glass door and glass windows. A large, young woman, with curly black hair, was at the large counter which cut the room in half. Before I could open the door, I heard a muffled sound through the glass. Hearing people’s thoughts was new to me, but I had learned the hard way that when I heard a person’s thoughts outside of a room it meant that person was loud and obnoxious. I took a deep breath before opening the door, steeling myself for the onslaught.
She looked up from the papers she was going through when I stepped in, and I saw her face transform from boredom into curiosity. What in the world is she wearing on her head? Oh, goodness, that’s her hair! I heard as soon as I stepped in. “Can I help you dear?” Her voice was light and nasal, echoing the sound of her thoughts.
“Um, yeah…” I need a comb so I can make sure you’re happy with my hair. “My name is Clare Michaels…”
Oh God, that’s Ellen’s daughter! They don’t look a bit alike. Well, maybe a little in the shape of the face. I wonder who the father is? It serves her right for getting knocked up. Tramp. I can’t believe I was ever jealous of her!
None of this showed on her face.
“Of course!” she said. Her smile became fixed as she smoothed her blue jean jumper. “How’s your mother? I went to school with her, you know.” If you could call hating someone with a fiery passion, going to school with them, she tacked on spitefully. She looked down and started searching through a pile of papers on the counter.
“She’s really great,” I answered. “Amazing, even.”
“Good…good. Here.” She grabbed a set of papers from the bottom of the pile and handed them to me. “Here’s your schedule. The rooms are listed next to the corresponding class, but if you have any trouble finding anything just ask one of the teachers.”
I nodded, knowing even if I didn’t have a clue where I was going, I wouldn’t ask.
She pointed to another paper in the stack she’d just handed me. “Make sure you get all of your teachers to sign this for attendance purposes, and bring it back to me at the end of the day.” She rattled the three other papers in my hands. “And these are for your mom to sign.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I turned to le
ave, wanting to get away from her nasty thoughts about my mom, and her eyes, which were watching my every movement, but she stopped me.
“Tell your mom Heather Thomas, I mean,” a false little giggle, “Heather Smith says ‘hi’,” she said in a sweet tone that didn’t quite match the look on her face. Oh, I cannot wait to tell everyone what this one looks like! No one will believe it! I hope she tells Ellen about my name change! She will be so jealous that I got married, to an ex-boyfriend of hers no less!
“I will,” I replied.
“Have a good day!” she called as I slipped out the door and out of her line of sight.
Ha!
I found a small bench hidden by a recessed wall and sat, so I could go over my schedule without being bothered by anyone, especially an overly jealous Heather Smith or Thomas or whatever. Trying to clear her nasty thoughts from my head, I noticed my first class was gym. Irritation swirled up around the gloomy feelings. I wasn’t sure what imbecile thought of forcing people into gym class first thing in the morning but whoever it was, they were sadistic – or perhaps they had a profound hatred of teenagers. Or, perhaps, they were both. Not that I minded exercise, it was just the idea of having to exercise at eight in the morning in those stupid clothes they called a uniform. It was torture.
Disgusted, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes trying not to think about the coming hours, feeling that having gym first thing was a bad omen. Finally, when I felt more composed – which is to say, not like my brain was going to explode – I got up and made my way to the back of the building where, logically, I figured the gym would be.
The halls had filled up with gossiping students during my sojourn on the bench. Kids crowded the halls as they talked to their friends. Several people did funny double takes when they saw me. The rest just stared. Slivers of excited thought ghosted after me as I searched for the gym, pounding into my brain like tiny, annoying hammers.
The Watchers Page 2
