Death Lies Between Us (An Angel Falls Book 1)

by Jody A. Kessler

  I hold it up by the cord and look at it with trepidation. It is not exactly an object of beauty. It’s a small leather pouch with a tiny hollow bone used as a button to keep it closed. I turn it around and inspect the four directions symbol on the other side. The symbol is beaded on with tiny seed beads. The four colors, white, red, yellow and black make a circle with a cross in the center representing north, south, east and west.

  “Is this your medicine bag?” I ask.

  “That’s right. I can trust you to keep it for me.”

  She’s still standing close to me.

  “Here,” she says. She reaches her slender fingers forward and takes the little bag from me and tucks it inside my shirt. I lower my chin and look down, seeing nothing but my smock, speckled with tiny bits of plant matter. “So it won’t be in your way,” she explains.

  She leans forward and gives me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. I make a mental note to check my face for lipstick after she leaves.

  She turns and scoops her purse off the counter. Her silver braid swishes across her back. “Next week your normal schedule will be fine. Love you, be safe.”

  Her honey sweet voice trails behind her out the door followed by the tinkle of the bell.

  I blink, then blink again, feeling a little odd about her departing memento. The bag around my neck is nestled securely in the center of my chest. The weight of it is comparable to a humming bird, almost nothing, but I’m aware of it as if it is a tiny bird. It has its own resonating warmth and pulse. That doesn’t make sense. And yet it feels true. I pull the neck of my shirt open and peer down at the leather bag. There’s nothing unusual about it. I drop my collar and there it is again, a fluttery hum, very slight and almost undetectable. I wriggle my shoulders back and forth getting accustomed to the feel of something around my neck and down my shirt that seems to have a life of its own. Must be my body heat next to the leather, I conclude.

  My stomach lets out a loud grumbling complaint followed by a hollow squeezing feeling before I have a chance to do anything else. It’s evening and I haven’t eaten since this morning. Okay, okay, I tell it. Grandma said she left food in the refrigerator. I open the large white door and search for sustenance. My stomach leads me to a fresh fruit salad and half of an enormous sandwich. I silently thank Grandma for being so thoughtful.

  Movement catches the corner of my eye as I swallow my last bite of watermelon. An elderly woman, white haired and stooped with age, glides past the workroom door. Pushing back my chair and rising to my feet, I silently question why I didn’t hear the door. I let it go; I’ve been distracted all day.

  “Good evening,” I call out as I move to my station by the cash register.

  There’s no answer. Glancing at the clock again I see I have eight minutes till close and freedom after that. The woman comes out from behind a row of shelves, moving with an ease and grace that defies her antique body. The medicine bag on my chest starts to hum again and I rub at it absently as she approaches my counter. Under a helmet of tight curls, warmth and kindness twinkle in the clear blue ice of her eyes. I immediately adore this woman as she gives me a sweet smile.

  “Hello, young lady.”

  “Hello. Is there anything I can help you find?”

  “Thank you for asking. You’re a unique young person aren’t you? What is your name?” She has a warm full voice, aged but still strong.

  “It’s Juliana,” I say wondering what she meant by unique.

  “My name is Mary Elizabeth Perkins and my daughter will be inside in just a moment,” she tells me. “She doesn’t sleep well at all. It’s taking a dreadful toll on her and my grandchildren. Do you think you can help her with that?”

  “I certainly can try. We have a few different things that may help. I’ll show her when she comes in.”

  “Oh, thank you. You’re a good girl for a seer. If it isn’t too much trouble, may I ask you one other small favor?”

  What did she call me? I don’t dwell on it because the leather pouch under my shirt feels as if it’s trying to take flight and it’s incredibly distracting. “Of course, Mrs. Perkins,” I say as I inconspicuously rub at my sternum.

  “Please, if you will tell my Shannon to stay away from the valerian roots. I tried them one time and it had an opposite effect on me. I think it will be the same for her.”

  “Okay, sure,” I agree while wondering why she doesn’t tell her daughter herself. Don’t ask questions. It’s a simple request and best not to get involved.

  Mary Elizabeth Perkins gives me a wink. “Please excuse me. I do like to watch over the grandchildren when Shannon is away.” Then she moves to the door.

  “Have a nice evening,” I say, as I am again astonished at her ease of movement.

  The back door opens and a lady, this must be Shannon, walks in and Mary Elizabeth slips out. They don’t even acknowledge one another. Don’t get involved. I remind myself. Not everyone gets along with their family members.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi,” she says, and in one word I can hear and feel the immense lack of energy this woman is struggling with. This lady needs sleep, or a vacation, or some kind of vitalization.

  “Can I help you?”

  She lifts the same ice blue eyes of her mother to my face and gives me a small tired smile. Dark shadows under her eyes and lines of fatigue tarnish her otherwise pleasant heart-shaped face. “A friend of mine recommended I try some valerian so I came in to pick some up.”

  “We do sell valerian, but may I suggest passion flower instead? Also, my grandmother has her own sleep aid blend. We’ve had a lot of positive feedback on the blend.”

  “No. My friend said valerian works great for her and I want to try it.”

  I don’t want to argue with a sleep deprived mother but I also don’t want to give her something which can possibly make things worse. “Valerian has the opposite side effects on certain people. Why risk it when there’s something else that will probably work better?”

  “No, the valerian will be fine,” she says. Her mind obviously made up.

  Did she not hear me? “Listen, I’m sorry to interfere, but your mother told me valerian keeps her awake and I would really hate for that to happen to you.” Shannon gives me a look that says either I’m speaking in Chinese, or I’m from another galaxy. I turn around to the rack of bottles behind me and pull the valerian and Grandma’s sleep aid off so I don’t have to face the look.

  “I don’t think you’re interfering,” she finally says. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else. My mom’s not from around here.”

  Now I feel as if we may both be from different galaxies, or at least planets. “Are you Shannon?” I turn back around.

  “Yes.”

  “And is your mother Mary Elizabeth Perkins?” The eyes alone would be enough to convince me, but I may as well clear this up.

  Confusion deepens the already present lines on her face. “Yes, that was my mother’s name.”

  “Here,” I say as I hold up the bottles. “If you want to buy the valerian I’ll sell it to you, but I will throw this other bottle in as a free sample.”

  “Did you say…,” Shannon says, and her eyes look down, shifting from side to side like she is searching for something that isn’t there, “that she told you?”

  “Um, yes?” I say, uncertain and concerned I may have crossed the line.

  “When?” she breathes out.

  “Just before you came in,” I say slowly. This conversation has taken a turn past strange and is plummeting toward bizarre.

  “That’s impossible,” she tells me with a shake of her brown curls. Her mind sounds set again.

  “I’m sorry.” I ring up the valerian and place both bottles in a bag then hand it over to her.

  “What kind of sick game are you playing?”

  “I’m really sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean to upset you. She asked me to help you and she seemed so nice,” I try to explain.

  She starts to take t
he bag as she stares at me and then something about her breaks. It’s the ice in her eyes cracking, I realize, like a frozen pond and then the water wells up, filling the space in her lower eyelids. “My mother died almost ten years ago. And she was the nicest person.”

  Tingling numbness creeps over my skin and seizes me. All of me, except my traitorous mouth. I speak without any control of what comes out. “Do you want to know what else she told me?” I wait for my customer to answer yes or no.

  Her head moves in a barely perceptible nod.

  Mechanical and disjointed in my brain, the words tumble out with no difficulty. “She said she likes to watch over her grandchildren when you’re away.”

  Brown lashes hide her rush of emotion from me, but I can feel it emanating from her.

  “Thank you,” she manages. I feel a tender squeeze of my hand as she takes the bag and leaves the shop.

  I’m not sure how long I stood there frozen, attempting to comprehend everything that just happened, but eventually I make myself move. I run a shaky hand through my hair and then finding the shaking to be too unsettling, I grip the edge of the counter and stare down at it as if the solid feeling in my hands could travel into the rest of me. Andrew Jackson stares at me from a twenty dollar bill Shannon must have left behind. I am real. I’m not dreaming this right now. Did I just have a conversation with someone’s dead mother? Did she call me a seer? Why is this happening to me? Would Shannon lie to me? People can be strange, I tell myself, and then with a distinct and icy impression on my innards I realize, I’m the strange one, and that lady had not been lying.

  Chapter Eleven: Village Captive

  A few minutes later I stand in the back lot, squinting at the unaccustomed sunshine. It’s ferocious and glaring. The angle of the evening sun seems to be at the exact location to cause the most pain in my retinas. I close my stinging eyes and soak in the warmth through my skin instead. Mary Elizabeth’s blue eyes and wrinkled face stare back at me on the backs of my eyelids. I shake my head in consternation and the medicine bag on my chest begins to pulse again. Forget about Mary, she’s gone. I rub at the pouch through my shirt and tell myself it must be sweat this time causing the unusual sensation, cold sweat. There is nothing supernatural in the bag. I’m doing Grandma a favor, that’s all.

  A breeze stirs the air around me and makes my fly-away hairs tickle my face. I brush them back and breathe deep, smelling hot pavement mixed with pine. My feet are eager for a trail and I consider going for a walk. It takes half a second for the appeal of wandering through some peaceful woods to win over going home to mounds of laundry. With a couple of hours left of good light, I can take advantage of the warm evening. A walk will help me get my mind off everything. I decide to go somewhere close to town because I don’t want to waste too much time driving.

  With my mind organized, I walk over to my car and climb inside. Turning the key, my engine starts on the first try, as always, but something is not quite right. I look around the interior trying to pinpoint what’s different. The navy blue seats are bare of clutter but they had been earlier too. I must be imagining it. I shift into reverse and let out the clutch, backing up slowly. A grinding sound makes me stop my car. I pull the brake and jump out. The driver’s side appears normal but when I look at the other side of my car, I see the problem.

  The rear tire is flat. I close my eyes and then open them again. Hoping what I just saw would magically fix itself. It didn’t. The car jumping and swerving and the horrible thumps as I tried to avoid becoming a dog murderer this morning must have resulted in a punctured tire. Looking from my tire to the surrounding parking lot, all I see is a red VW sitting alone and not a person in sight.

  What do I do now? I can call Mom, but she’s probably at work. I can call a tow truck, but that’s going to cost me more than I want to spend. I can call Jared. That seems to be the most likely, except how’s he going to get here? I have our car. Grandma is busy, she already told me that. I have seen a tire being changed but I’ve never done it. I eye the flat with an air of challenge. Alrighty then, I’ll change the stupid thing myself. The owner’s manual is in the glove box and the tools are in the back with the spare. I should be able to handle this.

  I shut off the engine and double check the E brake. I open the enormous hatchback, lift up the floorboard, and heft out my spare tire with a grunt. Going back in for the rest of the implements I’ll need for the job, I grab the jack from its custom formed slot and set it on the ground. Looking at the tool tray I notice a lot of the slots are empty. I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure I have to have a tire iron to get the lug nuts off. None of the remaining tools in the kit resemble a tire iron. I feel my blood pressure creep up slightly as I try my blinking trick again. No new tools appear after closing and opening my eyes. I search the nooks and crannies in the back of the car and come up with nothing useful. The rest of the car doesn’t produce the needed tool either. My blood pressure rises again. Where is it! I slam the passenger side door and look at my flat tire with an almost overwhelming need to yell obscenities. I hold them in and frown like the sad clown at the circus.

  Going back inside Native Naturals and feeling like a failure, I decide to call home. Please be there, I silently plead into the ringing phone.

  “Crowson, house of ganja, will this be a pickup or delivery?”

  “Quit messing around Jared. Our car has a flat tire.”

  “Hey, where are you? I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I’m at work and I just tried to fix the tire but the tools are missing.”

  “At work. Great, it’s on our way. We’ll be right there.”

  “Really? Thanks.” That was almost too easy. I was picturing having to spend most of the night here and, poof, just like that, I have a ride.

  “Umm, sorry about the tire iron. I forgot to put it back the other day. I’ll bring it now. See you in a few.”

  “Jar…,” I get cut off. I was going to ask, who “we” is, but it will most likely be Caleb. They’re together more often than not. Did he say he was waiting for me? Why?

  Back outside, I perch myself on the hood of the car and feel grateful for my brother. Somehow through the thick and thin of things, he always manages to come through for me. He is hyper, and has his quirks. He does things the exact opposite of how I would do them, like putting the tire iron back after I was finished with it, but he’s there when I need him. I feel my blood pressure begin to return to normal. Help is on the way.

  I see Caleb’s maroon minivan come around the corner in what seems like no time at all. They must have been walking out the door when I called. Luck is on my side tonight. All of Jared’s teeth show in a goofy smile as they pull up. He practically bounces out of the van and then waves the missing tire iron in one hand as he comes over. He opens the hatch of our car and puts the tool away, then grabs the spare tire and flings it in place acting as if it weighs no more than a beach inner tube.

  “Can you not change a tire?” It would be convenient if he would fix it now, but that doesn’t appear to be what’s happening.

  “Of course I can,” he says, defending his manhood. “But not right now. Lock it up and let’s go.”

  I climb into the back of the van and Caleb says, “What’s up?” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel matching the beat of the music playing.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say.

  Caleb grins, and then gives one to Jared as he settles into the front seat. Jared waggles a brow and grins back. Are they high? I hope not. I don’t smell anything, but they both have a distinct air of giddiness. I ignore it. If they’re stoned, I don’t want to know. I need a ride home and I want to be ignorant about the pot thing. I don’t care if they smoke it, but the last I checked it’s still illegal to do so and go for a drive.

  Caleb turns up the stereo past blaring to near-deafening and drives off. I lay my head back against the seat and close my eyes listening to the bouncy ska beats. After a few moments, I open one lid and fix my eye on Ja
red. His head bobs to the music. I check out Caleb and he’s still smiling. What is up with these two? They vibrate to some current I’m not part of. I am in no way envious. Blocking out their enthusiasm, I close my eye again, listen to the music and wish my walk in the woods hadn’t been canceled.

  I’m not certain how long, but some time later, my head jerks forward and my eyes pop open. Did I doze off for a second? I must have. The forest whips by the van in a green and brown blur. We’re driving down the highway outside of town.

  “Where are you guys going?” I sit up in the seat and try to pinpoint our exact location. We should be home by now, but Caleb is driving west, not east out of town.

  I assume they didn’t hear me over the loud music so I try again, this time much louder, “Hey, numb-nuts, where are we going?”

  Caleb turns the knob down, then answers, “To Castle Hill.”

  At the same time, Jared turns in his captain’s chair, with unbearable enthusiasm on his face, and says, “Back to Lance’s.”

  Disbelief just about knocks me off my seat. “No!” I choke out.

  The party. I had completely blocked it from my mind. I peek over the back seat and sure enough, all the band equipment is packed in like sardines in a can.

  “No. I can’t!” I shake my head in denial.

  Jared’s eyebrows say it all. One is up in a ‘questioning my sanity’ look and the other one is down in mild concern. “What are you yammering about?”

  “I can’t go back.” My head shakes no, moving on its own accord as if it doesn’t trust my words alone to convey how serious I am. “Just take me home first, okay.”

  “Can’t do it.” He faces front as if that’s his final answer.

  “You have to!” The van slows down a smidge.

  “We can’t, we’re already late. Derrick and Dan are there waiting.”

  I meet Caleb’s cornflower blue eyes in the rearview mirror and let him see my soul pleading for him to give in and turn around. “Caleb, I have to get home. Please take me back.”