Becoming Indigo

by Tara Taylor

  He caught it in one hand and tossed it back into my suitcase. Then he jerked his head toward my bedroom.

  We walked to my room, and once inside, I shut the door. He led me to my bed, and we lay down. I curled my body into his. He pulled me close, and I rested my head on his chest.

  “I’m going to miss you,” he said, stroking my hair. Then he kissed the top of my head. “But you’re going to have so much fun,” he whispered.

  “I’m going to miss you, too,” I whispered.

  “I bought you something to take with you.”

  I sat up, looked down at him, and playfully punched his chest. “You didn’t need to buy me anything.”

  He grinned and also sat up. “It’s for me, too.” He pulled a little card out of his shirt pocket. “It’s an international calling card. You can phone me and tell me what a great time you’re having.”

  Natalie and I boarded our plane a few days later, and we settled in for the long trip over the ocean. She pulled out a novel, and I went to pull out my novel, too, but the book on past lives seemed to just pop out of my bag and fall into my lap.

  “Whatcha reading?”

  I held up the book. “Annabelle gave it to me. It’s a book on past lives.”

  “Cool.”

  I laughed. “The author believes that many of us were someone else before we were us.”

  Natalie narrowed her eyes as if she was thinking hard. “I guess I believe that.” Then she smiled. “So I could have been someone heroic?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. That’s the idea.”

  Natalie’s face broke into a huge smile. “I believe that. I can see myself as some fiddler in a kingdom.”

  I laughed. “I can play this game. I think I was someone like Mary, Queen of Scots.”

  “Oh, I could be Joan of Arc, then.” Natalie laughed.

  “I could have been a witch in Scotland who had to give readings by looking at the swirling water in a big black pot.”

  Natalie giggled. “Yes, you could have been. I bet you were a good one, too. You would have changed the world.”

  Our conversation ended at that, because the pilot came over the loudspeaker telling the attendants to prepare for takeoff.

  We arrived in London, checked into our hostel, and wasted no time, because we had only three days to explore the city.

  Our first excursion, so we could get familiar with the city and pretend we were real tourists, was to ride the red double-decker bus. I almost had to pinch myself as I stared out at London, at the busy streets, the cars that drove on the other side, and the old buildings. They were so much older than anything in Canada. I was here. I was really here. And I had done it on my own. I was proud of myself.

  We hopped on and off the bus, taking in Trafalgar Square, Downing Street, Tower Bridge, and of course Big Ben and Buckingham Palace. Per usual, Natalie wanted photos. Tons of photos.

  We got back on the bus, and when it stopped at the London dungeon, Natalie looked at me. “Do you think it’s haunted?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “And I’m not going in there.”

  “Me either,” said Natalie. “Green Lady was enough for me for a lifetime.”

  The second day in England, we walked along the Thames River. When lunchtime arrived, we bought some fish and chips.

  “Paul would love these,” I said to Natalie as we sat on a bench eating, the river flowing in front of us.

  The chips had been wrapped in newspaper. I dipped one into the little container of mayonnaise they had given me. “He loves mayo.”

  Natalie had smiled. “I think you like him a whole lot better than you think you do, girl.”

  “Yeah, maybe I do.”

  “You’re not getting homesick already?” she asked.

  “Not a chance,” I said. “I’m ready for Ireland.”

  We rode the train to Wales on our way to Ireland, and the view from the windows of the green rolling hills was spectacular. Of course, once we were settled in the hostel, Natalie wanted to hit an Irish pub for music and food and a mug of beer. I was game for that.

  As we listened to the Celtic music, I picked at my chicken pot pie. Beside me Natalie tapped her toe and moved to the music. All day I had been having weird feelings that something wasn’t right at home, and it irritated me. How could this be happening? My first overseas trip, and I was being nagged by something.

  Natalie nudged me with her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said. I attempted a smile. “I’m loving this music.” I did a little face bob with my head. “But you’re as good as they are.”

  “Ahh, you’re too kind.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “Okay. So tell me the real truth. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. I have a feeling that I can’t shake.”

  “Call him.”

  “That’s not what this is about. It’s something else.”

  She wagged her finger at me. “Call him.”

  Later that night, I did call Paul from a green telephone booth just outside the pub. Little windows lined the box, and I was able to see people walking in and out of the pub. Natalie sat against a window ledge outside the pub and enjoyed a cigarette. She looked at peace and at home. I wished I could feel like that.

  “I don’t want to talk too long,” I said, after I’d told him all about England. “I will use up all my minutes.” I paused for a brief second. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Everything’s fine. I’m in the midst of exams. Studying my brain off.”

  “Okay.” I looked outside the phone booth. Natalie had finished her cigarette and was looking pensive and thoughtful.

  Paul seemed distant. Or was I imagining things? Was he not happy to talk to me? Did he not miss me? Was he seeing someone else?

  “Are you studying by yourself?” I blurted out.

  “Sometimes. Other times, I work with some friends.”

  “What friends?”

  “Just people from my class.”

  Natalie was looking my way. “Well, I should go,” I said.

  “Great to talk to you,” he said. “Drink a pint for me.”

  When I stepped outside, rain drizzled from the sky, and it felt like little elves creeping across my face.

  “So, feeling better now?” Natalie asked.

  “Absolutely,” I lied.

  “Let’s go to the Urquhart Castle today!”

  We were at the end of our trip, and I had saved this castle for my last tourist stop. It was my highlight. We had been to so many amazing castles since we’d been in Scotland, and it had been nothing short of spectacular.

  Excitement overwhelmed me and squashed down any worries I had about what was going on at home. The bad feelings had persisted, but I shoved them all aside. I was in Scotland, and nothing was going to ruin that. I would deal with whatever it was when I got home. If Paul was seeing someone else I guess … I didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not while I was in Scotland.

  If we were meant to be, we would be. Annabelle quoted that line all the time. I hadn’t bought her anything yet, because I was waiting to get her a tartan scarf at Urquhart Castle.

  Of course, it was raining when we left the cute little B and B we were staying at. Mom had booked it for us as a birthday gift for me and to get us out of the hostels for a few nights. It was built into the old castle walls in St. Andrews, and I loved it because it felt magical. The grass surrounding the B and B was almost fluorescent green, and the hills rolled and looked soft and forgiving. For breakfast we’d had black pudding, sliced sausage, and tattie scones. Natalie had had the grilled tomato, but I just couldn’t stomach tomatoes. There was something about their consistency that made me ill. And I was not going to be ill today, or think of anything about home.

  “Watch the chicken poop,” I said to Natalie, laughing.

  Chickens roamed freely in front of the B and B, just like we were in the medieval days, and every time we left the building, Natalie and
I dodged the chicken poop.

  Natalie hopped from one foot to the next, and we laughed all the way to the spot where we had to catch the bus. Other tourists climbed the bus stairs with us, and Natalie and I found a spot near the back.

  Sitting in my seat, my body vibrated with excitement.

  Natalie poked. “You have been waiting all trip for this,” she said.

  “Yup.” I bounced on my seat, and we burst out laughing.

  Once the bus was full, the driver revved the engine and shoved the bus into gear, launching it forward like a rocket. Then he drove like a maniac through the narrow streets.

  Natalie held the arms of the seat. “He’s trying to kill us,” she whispered.

  If I’d opened my window, I swear I could have touched the vehicles traveling on the other side of the road.

  Finally, the bus lurched to a stop, and when we stepped off, we were met by a cold gust of wind. I shivered and wrapped my jacket tight around me. Of course, the gift shop was the first thing we passed and would also be the last. That was typical in any tourist attraction.

  “Let’s get scarves,” I said, pulling Natalie’s arm. I would get one for me and one for Annabelle.

  Once we had our tartan scarves and they were flung around our necks, we made our way down to the water. We stumbled upon a Loch Ness monster sculpture. Natalie ran ahead of me and sidled up to it.

  “I’m gonna ride Mr. Loch Ness monster right out of the water,” she yelled into the wind, climbing onto its back.

  Giddy with excitement, I laughed and starting snapping photos of her. When it was my turn to pose for the camera, a weird sensation flowed through me as I held on to the fake sea monster, and it almost felt as if he were moving beneath my fingers. All the times we’d taken photos of us by the wooden people back home, I’d never felt them come alive. This was so different.

  After we had enough photos to fill five pages in an album, we made our way down to the castle by foot. Each step I took, heading down the hill, I had a crazy feeling that I’d been there before. I hadn’t felt like this with any other castles. Why this one? I picked up my pace and almost started running down the cobblestone path. It was as if I wanted to run home.

  “Whoa,” said Natalie, trying to follow me.

  Even with her urging, I didn’t slow down.

  “We should stop and get some information on the castle,” she said, breathing heavily from trying to keep up with me.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to read about it—I wanted to feel it. I had to get to the castle, get inside, even though there was nothing much left of it. As I ran, I could see it in front of me, tall and stately, and huge and real, and not just some pile of stones. It beckoned to me as if I were heading home.

  We hit the ruins of the castle, and it was like I had flipped a switch by my ears and turned my hearing off. I could see people talking, their lips moving, but I couldn’t hear anything. My mind was silent. Without even thinking about Natalie and where she was, I headed straight for a set of stairs that led up to the disintegrating castle, with all its crumbling stone. I made it to a lookout point, which I presumed used to be a window, and I stared out at Loch Ness.

  My body trembled as I stared at the massive, deep lake, and it was almost as if I could see boats out there. Suddenly, I felt myself sliding, and I grabbed on to the wall for support.

  And that’s when my mind went blank. And all I saw was white. Pain in my back jolted me. I was at the bottom of my fishbowl.

  I was wearing a long robe. I could feel something heavy hanging around my neck—I looked down and saw a big cross. My hands were large and calloused and strong. I was inside a man; he was me. In a flash, I was outside the man, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw my eyes. It was as if I were looking at myself, but I was a different person. Then I got sucked inside of him again and became him. My hands involuntarily reached to my chest, and I pulled at something, hard, something embedded in my heart.

  I yanked at it.

  The pulling pushed me back, and my back scraped against the stone wall. Finally, whatever had been lodged in me was out of my body. When I looked down at my hands, they were covered in crimson blood. It dripped through my fingers and onto the stone floor. But I didn’t scream.

  Instead, I glanced upward. I was surrounded by thick, gray castle walls, and stone steps loomed in front of me. Candles, embedded in metal sconces, lit the hallway with their fire, casting shadows on the walls. Torches, burning brightly, stood stoically on the steps.

  Noises sounded from somewhere: yelling, screaming. Up the stairs. Women.

  “Burn them at the stake!” I heard myself bellow.

  I blinked.

  “Are you all right?” I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I turned to see a man with a camera around his neck looking at me with concern. “You look awful pale, love.”

  “I’m fine,” I murmured. Had I screamed out loud? “I just need to sit down for a second.”

  He didn’t say anything else, so I figured it was all just in my head. I found a place to sit and put my head in my hands, trying to block out the sounds again, but I could hear everyone talking about the ruins, snapping photos, saying “cheese.”

  I know this place. I’ve been here before. Did I burn witches? Was that what this was about? Perhaps I was to change that somehow, fix the wrong I had done years ago. Those witches had been able to see and hear like me. That was all. Some were good, and some had gone to the dark side to practice. Was I supposed to prove that we could use our God-given abilities to spread love and not evil?

  Annabelle had come to me to help me move forward. She had taught me so many things, and I hadn’t exactly been the easiest student to teach. But I had learned from my experience. I knew all about the dark side and love within the light.

  I couldn’t wait to tell her my experience at the castle.

  Like a big bang, a gunshot, I heard a voice in my head. Theology. I quickly opened my eyes and grabbed my chest. It hurt. I sucked in air. What was wrong with me? Why had I heard and felt such a bang? I placed my head in my hands. This was too weird. All of it. I had heard that word at Christmas as well. Why was it coming back to me now?

  “Hey, there you are,” said Natalie. She breezed up the stairs to where I was sitting. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Cold encased me, and I wrapped my arms around my body. I stood up. “I’m freezing,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As we hiked back to the parking lot where our bus was, I got up the courage to ask Natalie, “Do you know what theology is? I heard someone talking about it at the castle.”

  “I think it might be the study of God,” she replied. “All that comes to mind for me, though, are pics of white-haired men with really long beards, spewing religious facts. Or men in long gowns walking around Italy with Bibles under their arms.”

  I laughed nervously. I certainly was not going to be walking around in a long robe in Italy any time soon.

  At the Ottawa airport, Mom greeted me at the baggage carousel. She hugged me hard. When I pulled back, I saw the pained look on her face, the sagging eyes, the droopy mouth, and I knew something was wrong.

  “How was your trip?” She tried to sound excited.

  “Mom.” I looked her in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, honey.”

  “Is it Dad? Brian? Cedar?”

  My mother shook her head. “No, sweetie. It’s Annabelle.”

  “Annabelle?” My knees quaked. My heart sped up. Vibrations shuttered through my body.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, but … she had a heart attack.”

  The bang. I had felt that in my chest. Was it a sign that I had ignored? What was wrong with me? I hadn’t read the signs right when I was overseas. Why?

  I quickly scanned the baggage starting to come through the shoot. “Once I have my bag, I want to go straight to the hospital.”

  My mother wrapped her arms around her body and kept shaki
ng her head. Tears fell down her face. “She’s gone, Indie.”

  “Gone? Gone where?” I searched her eyes for answers.

  “Indie, please. Listen to me. She passed away. The funeral is tomorrow.”

  “What? This can’t be. It can’t be. I have so much to tell her about my trip. I had, I had a past-life experience. I have to tell her.”

  She knows. Isaiah spoke softly. I wondered if she was with him now. And Papa.

  My mother pulled me into her arms.

  I couldn’t believe it, though. No matter what I was being told. I was still on earth, and Annabelle wasn’t. “I need her,” I sobbed. “There’s still so much I don’t understand.”

  “I’m so sorry.” My mother held me and ran her hand up and down my back.

  “Mom.” I cried into her shoulder. “I … should have figured this out. I would have come home.”

  “Shh. Indie. There was nothing you could have done. She had a heart attack, and within hours, she died. You wouldn’t have gotten to see her anyway.”

  Sobs racked my body, my stomach heaving and my heart breaking.

  Chapter Twenty

  I stood in the store. Annabelle’s Angels. Annabelle stood in front of me, and she was smiling and looking at the appointment book.

  “You can’t be here,” I said. “You’re dead.”

  But she was there. I could see her. Why was she there? She looked beautiful, more beautiful than ever before. Her skin had this translucent glow, stress lines gone, and her eyes were clear and bright, the brown in them solid, pure, rich, like decadent chocolate. She smiled, and her teeth were now white, straight, and perfect.

  “I’m here,” she said, her smile wide.

  “No, you’re not!” I cried. “You’re dead. How can you be here?”

  “You have to carry on for me. Use your gifts for the good.”

  I woke up in my childhood bedroom, trembling, holding my chest, and gasping for breath. She had come to me in a dream. Today was her funeral, and she had come to tell me that she was okay, that she was happy.

  The dream had been so real, as if Annabelle had been at the store and it was still open, but even in the dream, I knew she was dead.