by Jamie Magee
No way...
I couldn’t lie still for another moment. One way or another I was going to outrun this weirdness.
On my bedside table, there was a note from my mother. Libby is playing with Abby today. Abby’s grandmother is taking them to a movie this afternoon. Can you meet them at the theater at four? Meet me at the gallery - we’ll get dinner.
Love Mom
My mother owns an art gallery at the corner of Main Street. She has a big showing this week. Most of the paintings are mine. She assumes that if I see the reaction of the public it will inspire me. Now that the nightmares were back, I was sure I’d see an image today. Dark inspiration was whispering my name.
I’d finished getting dressed when I heard a knock on the front door. From the top of the stairs, I could see my friend, Dane, through the glass window that surrounded the door.
I’ve known Dane my entire life; he’s like a brother I got to pick. The seriousness in his dark eyes would let you believe he’s older than he is. His athletic build backed up the command I felt in his vibe. The safety.
Walking down the steps, I inhaled his vibe. I opened the door and met him with a wry grin, but his smile faded when he saw me.
“Rough night?” he asked, as his serious stare rained down on me.
I rolled my eyes and waved him in. He followed me to the patio that lined the back of the house. I sat down on the swing that faced the yard. Dane sat beside me and stretched his arm out behind me.
“You okay, Willow?” he asked, knowing the answer was no. “Nightmares come back?”
I glanced up at him, not surprised he had guessed. All my friends knew I was a violent sleeper.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” I groused.
I could sense his frustration as he tried to think of a way to help me. “Was it a new moon last night?” Dane asked. He moved his fingers together as if he were counting the days.
I swayed my head.
All at once I felt a gentle pull on me, the way I always did when an image would emerge, looking for my help.
I stood, hearing Dane sigh before he stood to follow me wherever I chose to go. A gust of summer air rustled through the trees, causing one of the branches to scrape against the roof of the patio. I grinned, feeling a sudden fear shoot through Dane before he had a chance to process what the noise was.
“Sometimes, I think you have nightmares because of this house,” he said.
My house is over a hundred years old and has always been in my family. It is the most historic and admired home in the town of Franklin.
I didn’t bother to tease him.
A girl my age appeared in the center of my yard. A sinking feeling absorbed me. She was on her knees, wearing a long black coat, holding a letter in her hands, crying breathlessly.
I stepped off the patio and ambled in her direction with Dane following right behind me. It wouldn’t be the first time he had watched me help an image. I was sure I had lost count of how many times he had come. He never asked any questions or even spoke about it. Each time, he would act as nothing had happened.
I tried to understand what kind of sorrow the girl had. Greif? Loneliness? After a moment, I knelt in front of her, reached out with my hands and touched her shoulders.
With my touch, the gentle pull grew into a force that moved me forward. A tingling sensation bolted through me. The air around me shifted to freezing. It was dark. Snow fell through the air. The girl never raised her eyes to meet mine—the images never do. I tried to remember an emotion of absolute bliss, the way I always felt with my blue-eyed guy. I could feel her emotion shifting. Her tears began to dry. A small smile came to the corners of her lips. I let go, taking in her details, knowing that she would be my next sketch.
The same force that pulled me in pushed me away. I took in the tingle as it passed again. It didn’t matter how many times I went through this—it always left me enchanted.
I was back in my yard in the small town of Franklin on a warm summer day.
Dane was standing behind me, calm as ever. When we were kids, this was terrifying to him. His emotion was powerful enough to make me question why I had no fear of this dance with the unknown. Or at least not enough fear to stop me from reaching out again and again. Now, it’s as common to him as a simple conversation.
Lost—trying to mentally work through—the nightmare I had, and all the oddities about me, I turned and walked back to the patio. Dane followed me. As I sat back down in the swing, Dane passed me and went into the house. I stared at the door, trying to figure out what he was doing. He returned with a sketchbook and stick of charcoal, walked over and handed them to me, then sat down.
I leaned back in the swing, pulling my legs to me to balance the pad. My hand then flew across the page as I outlined the woman. As she came to life on the pad, I realized how observant Dane is. He understood the significance of my art. Why I sketched. That it had nothing to do with a raw unclaimed talent, but that it was my grip on sanity.
Once I finished, Dane swayed his head. “Well, the rebellion thing didn’t work. Maybe we should play up the nightmares.”
He and my best friend, Olivia, tried to help me come up with excuses for not going away to school. I would never leave Franklin if it were up to me. I knew everyone here. Their emotions were familiar, and I knew how to block them if I wanted to.
“What time is it?” I asked.
He looked at his watch. “Three thirty,” he answered, a little shocked by how much time had passed.
“I have to walk down and get Libby for Mom,” I said, standing and folding the sketchpad closed.
“I’ll come with you. I have to work tonight,” Dane said, stretching before he stood. His mother, Gina, owned a small diner in town named, appropriately enough, Gina’s. Dane seemed slated to run it one day, but that was a fate he would never choose for himself.
My house sat one block from Main Street, the heart of town. I slipped on my sandals and walked side by side with Dane. Almost everyone we passed waved, followed by a 'Tell your dad I said hello.'
Dane swayed his head. “Your dad should, like, run for president. He would so win.”
“You’re right,” I muttered, remembering him leaving last night and the way my mother was acting.
Olivia was working at the theater for the summer. Her passions are movies and books, so it’s a fitting job for her. She’s one of those people that I like being around because words are not always needed. We are the two girls who sit on the sidelines, watching others in our class. Teachers always get us confused because Olivia is small and has the same olive skin and long dark hair as I do.
When she saw Dane and me coming up the sidewalk, a smile absorbed her bored face. “What have you guys been up to today?”
“Sketching,” Dane answered all too cynically.
Olivia’s smile fell. “Man, I thought that one would have worked.”
“Wait,” Dane said, raising his hands to make his words have more of an effect. “I have good news—the nightmares are back.”
I elbowed him to tell him to chill on the negative vibe he was tossing around.
“Really?” Olivia gasped. “Do you guys have any good news for me?” she asked as her concerned gaze melted over me.
“Afraid not,” Dane said quickly. “Hey, I gotta go. If your lights are on when I get done tonight, I’ll stop by,” he told me.
I nodded and watched him go.
“I don’t think I will ever figure the two of you out,” Olivia said under her breath.
I tossed a dirty glance at her.
“Just kidding,” Olivia said, smiling and raising her hands defensively.
The doors to the theater opened. I could see Libby coming up the aisle with her friend and her grandmother.
“Hey, let’s do something tomorrow,” Olivia said as I moved so Libby could see me. I nodded and grinned at Libby.
When she saw me, she ran in my direction, her emotions, as always, were dren
ched in excitement.
“Oh, that was the best movie ever! The princess had green eyes like you!”
“Are you sure? I thought only witches had green eyes?” I teased.
Not finding it very amusing, her broad smile lessened. I waved goodbye to Olivia, and Libby told her friend goodbye. She must have known I we were going to Mom’s gallery. She turned in that direction as we left the theater and all but pulled me down the sidewalk.
“Willow, why are you walking so slow? I want to see Mom. Which pieces of yours are there?”
Libby never had one question.
“It’s nice out.”
“What pictures of yours are there?” she asked again.
She knew I was avoiding the answer.
“I don’t know. Mom didn’t ask me.”
Libby started going on about which ones were her favorite. I listened as I scanned the crowd, looking for another image. The woman wearing a black coat had left me with a craving to help someone else.
People were rushing in and out of the doors of the gallery when we arrived. We didn’t see Mom at first, but Libby spotted her as the people scurried around us.
“There she is!”
I waved at Mom to let her know we were there. Libby then took my hand and said, “Let’s find yours.”
It wasn’t hard. One of the first ones in the presentation was mine. It was a little boy in a field, surrounded by wildflowers. I had painted it almost a year ago.
“Who did you draw?” Libby asked.
“It was just someone I thought of...”
“There are my two angels,” I heard Mom say.
Libby was in her arms before I could turn to her voice.
“Did you like your movie?” she asked Libby.
The energy that those two put off was unbelievable. Libby nodded and went into a full recount of her day. My mother’s eyes met mine as Libby spoke. Wanting to avoid her stare, I began to walk down the hall in the gallery and look at all the paintings. The emotion of the artwork, not just mine, was powerful. The most amazing part was feeling the emotions of the people who gazed at them. If they understand the painting, they feel it. Seeing the silent connection from the creator to the observer was breathtaking. It always reassured me that we’re not alone, that somewhere someone is feeling, or has felt, the same. They survived it, so no doubt you would, too.
My mother caught up with me. “How did your day go? Did you sleep in?” she asked, trying to catch my gaze.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“We’re going to meet your Dad at Antoine’s for dinner,” she said with a sigh of relief.
“Speaking of sleep, I bet he’s tired since he had to work last night.”
A surge of suspense rushed through her. She stood speechless before turning and trying to look busy, talking to the lighting crew.
Antoine’s was busy, which wasn’t surprising, as beautiful as it was outside. Dad managed to get us a table out on the street. He seemed lost in his thoughts, which was odd because he is usually very attentive to us. I melted into my seat, keeping my eyes down while tracing the star in my tattoo. It’s now a part of me. Great.
I listened to Mom and Dad as they went over their days with each other. They were often interrupted as people would pass by and stop to talk to them. I added in a laugh or “yes” or “no” when the questions would come my way. My attention was on the people all around us. I hadn’t given up my search for another image.
I could feel my father watching me, following my gaze. When he exchanged glances with my mother, I could sense his concern. What is it with him lately?
As dinner ended, I felt a familiar pull on me, so I searched the crowd for anyone out of place. Across the street, I saw three girls walking toward the direction of our home. They were huddling together, trying to calm each other. I looked at my mother and saw her sketching something on a napkin.
“Mom, do you care if I go to the art store before I come home?” I asked, needing an excuse for the detour that I was planning.
“That’s fine with me. I’m surprised you haven’t made any plans for tonight. Hannah and Jessica stopped by the shop today looking for you.”
Jessica and Hannah were friends of mine and big fans of my mother. My father seemed to grow a little tense; his emotion shifted to concern.
He spoke before I had the chance to respond. “What could you possibly need at the store? Between you and your mother, you could open a store on your own.”
“I want to see if they have anything new. Monica is working anyway,” I responded, a bit defensive.
My mother reached out and put her hand on my father’s. Bringing his attention to her big brown eyes, she spoke softly, almost imploring him to listen to her. “Jason, let her go.”
He started to say something, but she put her fingers to his lips. With their eyes locked, she seemed to reassure him. Taking advantage of the distraction she had given me, I stood, “I won’t be out late,” I promised. “Hey, Libby, hug me.”
“Can I go with you?” Libby asked, dancing in her seat. It was obvious she didn’t want to sit there anymore.
“Young lady, it’s close to your bedtime. Give your sister some space,” Mom ordered, putting her sketch in her purse.
I shouted, “Love you guys,” over my shoulder as I walked toward the art store.
Unfortunately, the images were walking in the opposite direction of the art shop. The art store was a few spaces down from the restaurant, so I wasn’t too far off track. Going inside would give them time to leave. Monica was sitting behind the counter scrolling through her phone.
“Hey, Willow,” she said as she looked up.
“Hey,” I said, staring out the storefront.
Monica is honest with her emotions. Sometimes too honest, but she always seemed to lighten any mood I was drowning in.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing. I was just getting some space between my parents and me.”
“Willow Haywood, why on earth would you ever want to do that?” she asked sarcastically. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re sneaking off to meet one of your many admirers. Who’s the lucky guy? Dane? Josh, maybe?”
I grimaced as she said the names, which only made her laugh.
“Hey, go to the lake with me tomorrow. Hannah and Jessica are going.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll see if Olivia wants to go, too.”
“There’s a new guy in town, by the way. Chase has been showing him around. So hot.”
She’d always been boy crazy, not a good trait to have in a small town. There are not a lot of them to go around.
“Who is he?” I asked, not caring.
“His name is Drake. Chase met him this morning. He’s renting out the studio at Chase’s house. He’s going to the lake tomorrow, too,” she continued.
“Monica—”
“I’ll pick you up at noon,” Monica asserted.
I half rolled my eyes. “Fine. Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love ya,” Monica yelled as I walked out.
Waving goodbye and walking back onto the street, I glanced back toward Antoine’s. My family had left. The streets were clearing out. I could see Mom and Libby almost a block ahead of me.
My house was only a block away now. Right as I was thinking of turning back, I felt the pull again.
I saw them a few feet in front of me: three girls, young. I wasn’t sure what was wrong. There was utter silence all around them. My stomach dropped, and I felt a little sick. I always felt this way before I got in trouble. If I had any sense, I'd see this as a sign to turn around and go home, but my curiosity won over my anxiety.
I stepped closer.
The night air seemed to chill as a breeze swept through the trees. I could sense emotions all around me. Beyond my images was one full of anguish. I glanced back; all I saw were random people in the distant lights of the streets. Not sure where the angst was coming from, I ignored it and decided to help the images before
me.
Breathing in, I looked at the girls and reached out for the one closest to me. The pull and the tingling sensation absorbed me once again. I smiled as I relished in the feeling.
I felt the cold rain; the girls were trembling. They needed one little push to find their second wind.
I let Libby’s face flash through my memory—the warmth and energy that came from her. I then placed my other hand on the girl to the far right. I watched as determination crossed their face. I could see a house with all the lights on inside. The girls could see it, too. I let go, and a force pulled me back into reality.
I stood still, trying to hold onto the tingling sensation I felt.
“Ahem.”
Hearing someone clear their throat, I turned and right behind me was my father.
“Hey, Dad,” I said anxiously feeling my skin blush and my heart pound.
“Willow, do you want to tell me something?” he asked.
My stomach turned. Did he see me disappear—or did he see me reappear?
“About?”
My father closed his eyes and raised his head to the night sky. “Do you realize how far you went that time?”
“Um...”
“Do you even know what you are doing?”
“Do you?” I retorted.
My father cleared his throat again and hesitated as an older couple walked by. “Willow, we need to talk. I need to explain something to you.”
I swallowed hard, not sure that I wanted to know what he thought he knew.
Chapter Two
“My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.”―Jim Valvano
My father put his arm around my shoulder, and we began to walk in the direction of our house. His mood was shifting. He wasn’t as uptight as he was before. It was almost like I felt surrender in him. He’d decided dreading whatever was bothering wasn’t going to stop it, facing it head on would save him the misery.
“Willow, you’re a gifted child, and I’m not talking about your creativity,” he began.
My body tensed. I’d rehearsed exactly how I’d tell my parents about my weirdness, but I always chickened out before I said a word. It wasn’t cool knowing I’d stressed about something for no reason. Did they know?
