How embarrassing! I must have looked dreadful last night. Why would someone like Nathaniel, who is all handsome and perfect, want to hang around with the likes of me? Not just that, but he waited for me to show up and then helped me out, but not while we were at Castle Hill. Where had he gone? I can’t remember seeing him after the ambulance and emergency crews had shown up. Then later he was on my front porch. Why hadn’t he given me a ride home? None of it makes much sense, like so many things about him, and what he says. He doesn’t answer questions, or he does, except his answers are vague. Do I have cause not to trust him? That feels wrong. He told me the most personal things about himself. Why would he do that unless he trusted me, and if he trusts me, then can’t I trust him?
Another horrified glance in the mirror and I check out my aura for the first time. No big surprise — it’s mostly purple and there are some greens and blues in the mix.
I finish in the restroom and go back to my bed. The last two days have taken their toll. I crawl in, seeking any leftover warmth and go back to sleep.
This time the dream is shorter. The wispy things in the water swirl and swim closer as I work over her body. I’m frantic and the mounting tension constricts my lungs and causes my heart to pound. I plead with her to come back to life. The panic builds and builds until I’m about to explode out of my skin. The water ripples and churns the obsidian pool. I know I have to get her away from the hot spring but I’m physically unable to do it. “Breathe, please breathe.” The ghosts in the water are to her feet now and one rises like smoke above its surface. It forms into the shape of a man. He drifts straight over to us and I freeze in terror, but he means me no harm. He bends down and lifts Ashley’s spirit out of her body. He turns and walks back into the water. They melt into a haze of fog that drifts over the jet black pool. The silver fog sinks into the water in wisplike strands until they’re both gone. Then Ashley’s dead body turns into my brother and I wake up.
Sitting up I take hard shallow breaths as I process the dream for the second time. I say a silent prayer that this dream won’t haunt me for the rest of my life, awake or asleep, but I’m afraid it will. I don’t want to be someone who lives in fear, especially of my own dreams. I refuse to close my eyes and let sleep come back so I stare around my room looking for a distraction. My eyes linger on my closet. Empty white plastic hangers remind me of skeletons, (ha, ha), in my closet. They hang bare boned, not a stitch of clothing in sight. I need to do laundry, or risk blinding innocent bystanders with my whiter than a full moon… moon. Hmm, not punny. I’m just full of it this morning, or afternoon. I have no idea what time of day it is.
I throw back my covers and crawl out of bed. Stumbling across my room, I begin to pile all the loose clothes scattered on the closet floor into my already overflowing basket. Walking blind down the stairs I imagine myself to be a pack mule descending Mt. Everest, only my load of cargo is in front of my face instead of on my back, and I rethink my decision not to make two trips to the washing machine. I miraculously make it down the stairs, like any surefooted mule would, and to the laundry closet. I stuff the washer with the essentials first, underwear, bras, and socks, then, favorite shorts, jeans, and shirts. It’s packed to bursting but I close the door anyway. I grab the laundry detergent from the shelf and pour out enough soap to wash one sock. I check the shelf above the machine and then check again. Of course there’s no backup bottle. Great! I have to go get laundry soap. I look down at my brother’s sweat pants and beater T-shirt and decide I can’t go to the store in this. As much as I want to, I have a rule not to ever leave the house in sweats. No matter what! I made up my mind about the rule a long time ago deciding it was a step in the wrong direction to ever allow it. One minute you’re in the convenience store in sweatpants and the next you have ten cats and never put shoes on when you leave the house, telling yourself your slippers look enough like shoes and no one will ever notice. No thank you.
As I begin to debate what’s left of my wardrobe, I feel the clothes in the back of my closet having a private joke about me, laughing their little buttons off as to who will look the most ridiculous. I decide to delay the freak show and step into the kitchen. Food inside my stomach helps me ten times out of ten to deal with the inconveniences that surface in daily life. A cup of herbal tea and an egg and cheese sandwich later and I feel tons better about making an unplanned trip to the store wearing God knows what on a busy summer Sunday afternoon, for laundry soap. It is afternoon, I realize. Most of the day is gone already.
Back in my room I begin the search for something to throw on. Distracted by my notebook on the floor I bend down and pick it up. It must have fallen off of the bed while I slept. I right the bent pages and set it down on top of my trunk. I open the right side of my closet door, no man’s land, and inspect the contents. One purple formal dress, a leather coat I never wear, overalls covered in paint stains which resemble dried blood, two skirts, and a bunch of old concert T-shirts. I keep the shirts around for nostalgia’s sake, but today one of them is making a comeback.
I grab the overalls and hope no one accuses me of slaughtering anything. The brownish-red paint is more than obvious. I step one foot in and it hits the floor through a huge hole in the seat of the pants. The hole is larger than I remember and ignoring it would expose more of me than I care to show. I kick them off into a heap on the floor.
Next.
My choices are a suede mini skirt or a full length red broomstick skirt. Full length wins. I top it off with a black T-shirt from a concert I saw in the ninth grade and feel as if I just time warped to five years ago. I search for my Mary Janes. As I hunt around the floor for my shoes, my eyes keep going back to my notebook. What? I don’t feel like writing right now. Then it occurs to me. I grab it and plop down on my bed. I hadn’t gone to sleep with it next to me. I always put it away when I leave the house. I’d fallen asleep next to a radiating warm body but when I woke up and had wanted to write, it had been right there. Open, on the end of my bed.
I move over to it, laying limp and innocent on my bedside table, and flip it open, searching past all my familiar handwriting. I find what I’m looking for. A note. Sort of cliché but it does make me feel better; he hadn’t left without any goodbye at all.
Juliana,
I am sorry I have to leave.
I’ll be back as soon as possible.
Stay home today. Stay safe.
Nathaniel
I frown at the short message. Does it mean he’s coming back here? I imagine I hear the sound of footsteps on the front porch and I jump up. I have to get some clean clothes! Not finding my shoes in my room, I head downstairs to look in the pile by the front door. There they are. I slip them on and reach for my keys on the hooks by the door. The sharp metallic edges of the keys feel familiar in my hand. Wait. How’d my keys get back on their hook? No, that’s not my biggest concern. I drop my chin to my chest with exasperation as it dawns on me — my car is at work with a flat tire and my money is in the car. Darn! Think fast Jules. I’ll take my mom’s car and her money too, if she has any. I lean to the side and peek out of the front window to assure myself there’s a car to drive before ransacking my mom’s purse like an eight-year-old looking for ice cream money and I see two cars. My mother’s car and my sapphire blue Saab are parked side by side in their normal spots.
Chapter Twenty-one: Synchronicity
Outside, I check my tire. The spare is on and I give it a swift meaningless kick. It looks fine, so I get in. My faithful ride starts with a growl and I figure I can be at the nearest store and back in twenty minutes, fifteen would be better.
Speculations flood my thoughts as I start to back out onto the street. Jared must be the one responsible for fixing the car and bringing it home. He was probably up all night anyway, high on meth as he was. Is he inside now? I didn’t hear anyone but I didn’t check his room either. I stop backing up and look up at Jared’s window. Fixing the flat was thoughtful but this doesn’t get him out of the doghouse. A f
lash of color catches my eye. The red fox is near the corner of the house. Does he know when I’m leaving? It’s unnerving how often I see him out here. He watches me with wide eyes not looking the least bit concerned with human interruptions. He looks small in his summer coat and he’s a lighter color than most of the foxes I’ve seen. He’s shades of blond and amber with very little of the rusty orange. His bottle brush tail is full and thick and his legs are the customary black. It dawns on me he may be a she, and if she keeps hanging around I’m going to have to start treating her like a family pet. The fox watches me the way Ariel does, alert, indifferent, yet somehow mildly interested. Her repeated appearances are intriguing. I wonder if Nathan would have any thoughts about what a fox hanging around my house would mean. He knew about owls last night. Does he know about other animals besides birds? Nathan is coming over. Hurry.
I drive through town with tunnel vision until I see the evil trap of backed up traffic. I slow down for the endless brake lights up ahead.
“What the…?” I exclaim to the unresponsive air. Then I notice the streets are lined with parked cars. I make a hasty decision to turn onto a side street and hope I’m guided by the powers that be; hopefully they believe in helping someone in a hurry. Chances are pretty good scooting around on the side streets won’t be any slower than crawling at a snail’s pace through downtown. Murphy’s Law has all the grocery stores on the opposite side of town from where I live, of course.
Every street I pass has become a temporary parking lot and I’m forced to slow way down again. It gets worse the closer I get to the city park. Pedestrians are everywhere like ants heading for the big rock candy mountain. Not ants, bees, I correct. It’s the Midsummer B’s Festival. I had completely spaced it. Blues, Brews, and BBQ brings a crowd every year. I drum my fingers on my steering wheel and will myself to be patient. I roll down my window and try to take in the festivities as I pass the park. Amplified music drifts in on top of the lingering smells of curly potatoes, funnel cakes, and hickory smoke. The devil himself couldn’t put together a more delicious aroma.
The swarm of people in the park against the white tents and the kelly-green lawn is an unmistakable banner that summer is here. The fine print underneath says, “Enjoy it now because in six weeks it’ll be gone.” A familiar shape interrupts my daydream. Lanky, lithe, dark haired, and wearing the same clothes as last night. Surprise makes me cough out, “Jared.”
He doesn’t stop his purposeful strides. I stare at him in disbelief and then realize I’m about to get hit. “Whoa! Watch out!”
I don’t know if I yelled at them, or myself, or both. I slam on my brakes as a minivan backs out of a spot in front of me. On impulse I pull right in and jump out thinking I can take a second to speak with my brother.
In my rush, I slam the door of the car and inadvertently pants myself, or should I say, skirt myself. I guess I have better reflexes than I know. My hand catches the fabric of my overflowing skirt before total discomfiture. The waistband had been yanked to just below my butt cheeks. Thank you for long oversized concert T-shirts.
“Yo Molly!” Is what I think I said, but it could have been any expletive. It didn’t halt Jared’s getaway but instead caught the amphibian eye of an elderly woman who is now giving me a disapproving and sour look. I smile at her innocently and open the car door to release my skirt. I rush forward onto the sidewalk. Some lessons come harder to me than others and you would think I would’ve figured it out by now but alas, I stumble over the curb.
“Hairy bollocks!” I yell. Maybe the old lady will think it’s Tourette’s syndrome.
I hear the amphibian give me a “tsk, tsk.”
No pain radiates from my toes so I take it as a positive sign to continue following after my brother. I want about thirty seconds with him, that’s all. Is that too much to ask?
His long strides have him halfway across the park by now. It appears he’s avoiding the main group of festival goers and heading for a picnic table under some trees in the far corner of the park. I lose sight of him as I dodge around a large family only to be consumed by another mass of people. When I can look for him again, he’s leaning against the table under an enormous blue spruce tree.
In the middle of all the humdrum I am somehow able to pick up some distinct words coming from a nearby walkie-talkie.
“Keep an eye on the adolescent at southwest corner.”
I turn from instinct to the sound and see a cop. He looks across the sea of colorful spectators toward my brother. I assumed it was about my brother but then I see someone else making his way toward Jared. I recognize the kid, but I don’t know him. He skulks along with his hands jammed into the pockets of an oversized jacket. Even to my untrained eyes, he appears suspicious or odd at best. For one, it’s hot outside, maybe not for long given the giant billowing clouds overhead, but right now long pants and a heavy black coat are out of place. His hair looks stringy. He’s one of the druggy high school kids, two years younger than Jared if I’m not mistaken. He’s not someone either of us hangs out with. Unfortunately, he appears to be heading in Jared’s direction.
I glance over at the cop and find two of them now. They talk something over and then separate. They both move in the general direction of Jared and they’re keeping an eye on him and the other kid.
Crap! What is Jared doing? I’m already anxious to talk to him about everything from last night, but now I’m nervous on top of it. What if he’s about to buy drugs off this stupid kid right in front of the police?
The stringy haired kid sits down on the top of the picnic table with his feet resting on the bench. I see Jared for a second, but then he disappears from view behind the tree trunk.
The two cops had found strategic positions for watching my brother. Obvious to me but I would bet Jared has no idea.
The kid glances around. He looks too shifty. I have to move. I head straight for Jared and pray I’m doing the right thing.
“Hey brother!” I say in a voice way too loud for me. I feel ridiculous but I didn’t want to yell out his name in front of the cops even though, in a town as small as ours, they probably know who he is.
“Hey sister?” he says back, making it into a question.
“We need to go home right now, okay?”
“What’re you talking about? Bugger off. I’m busy.”
He waves me off with a hand as if I am a pestering mosquito and I find the gesture incredibly rude.
Jared mumbles something to the boy. The kid gives me an uninterested look. He turns his attention back to Jared.
“Fine, bye-bye. Have fun getting arrested.”
That changes both of their expressions with the immediacy of changing TV channels.
The other boy shows much more animation to his dull countenance as he slides off the table murmuring, “Later, man.”
He scuttles off with his head bent down.
“You can thank me whenever you’re ready,” I say with an acid tongue. I still feel put out by his ‘bugger off’ when all I’m trying to do is save his butt.
“Thanks a lot.” He matches my tone.
“Two cops are right over there watching you,” I say in a fierce whisper.
He looks, and then looks back at me with a vicious scowl.
He just realized I’m right but he’ll never admit it, I think with triumph.
“I have to get out of here.” He starts to leave.
“No wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“Jared, you have to stop this.” I gesture at all of him.
This guy in front of me stands with a hand shoved in his pocket and gripping his arm with his other hand. He’s too thin and his cheeks are hollow under unrecognizable eyes. Sadness pierces my heart as I realize the extra sparkle of Jared’s eyes is missing. In its place are dilated pupils, dark and flat. And his aura, I’m new to seeing them, but compared to other people in the park, Jared barely has one. It’s as if his life force has faded to almost nothing.
“When was
the last time you slept?” It comes out as more of an accusation than a question.
He hears it the same way. “Great way to thank me for fixing the car.” His eyes focus on the distance. “What did you tell those cops?”
“Have you lost your mind?” How had he jumped to that conclusion? My head begins to spin.
“Did you turn me in Jules? How could you do that to me?”
“Of course not, you drug crazed freak! Who are you? Take a look at yourself, anyone with eyes can tell what you’re up to.”
Today it’s so obvious. I can see the slight greasiness of his hair and skin. I can tell he hasn’t showered or slept and I would bet he hasn’t eaten either. He glares at me like I’m his worst enemy. His jaw is clenched tighter than a vice. “You look awful,” I say shaking my head at him.
“I look fine,” he defends.
“Denial will get you really far in life.”
“What’s your problem?”
“You were going to buy drugs from that kid,” I accuse.
“No, I wasn’t.” He looks away from me with a slight smugness about him.
Oh my god! My eyes widen in shock. I can read Jared only too well. It’s the other way around. He was going to sell to the kid. I wonder what he’s holding — a bag, or worse? “You’re crazy! Do you want to go to jail? Because it almost just happened.”
Death Lies Between Us (An Angel Falls Book 1) Page 23
