Midnight Ruling

by E. M. MacCallum

  After my reassurance, he strode across the room and sat down on my twin bed. “Is there a problem, Nora?” he asked, sounding professional and tugging down his tie. The small, nervous twitch was so like mine when I tugged at my shirts.

  Dad met my eye and raised his eyebrows.

  I tried to think of the best way to tell him. “This is hard to say because I don’t know how you’re going to react.”

  “Does your mother know?”

  I stopped and stared at him. “Know what?”

  “What you’re about to tell me?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking ready to bolt.

  I shook my head and glanced at the door. “She won’t understand, Dad.”

  He chewed on the inside of his lip before asking, “Are you pregnant?”

  “Wow,” I said and shook my head. “No. This is about Nell.”

  His instant sigh of relief turned to a wet choking sound.

  Before he could have time to think over what I’d said, I explained. “I went to see her last week. Remember when I was late coming home and you guys were so mad that I didn’t call from the study day? I was in Windmane.”

  He tugged and readjusted his tie again, his dark blue eyes lingering on mine, searching for an answer. Finally, he asked, “Why?”

  “I needed answers. Answers about Neive.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Nora.”

  “I know.” I held up my palms as if to surrender. “But I did, and I need to know what you were told about that night.”

  He glanced at the door and shifted his weight on my bed, making it squeak. “Why couldn’t you ask your mom all this? We were told the same thing.”

  “Because Mom is stressed with two little kids and Nell wasn’t her sister.”

  He flinched as if I had flung a physical blow. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  I stood up so abruptly that he sat up straight and almost stood up himself. “I need you to,” I pressed. “That woman was out of it, and she told me things that I want cleared up.”

  This time he did stand up. He got to his feet in a fatherly way, a protective giant, and his expression softened. I was proud of my dad in that moment. This was probably the hardest thing for him to talk about. “What things did she tell you?”

  “That there’s a book.”

  Grabbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, he grumbled something inaudible.

  I decided to continue. “I never really talked about that night with you guys, so I don’t know what they told you, but there was a book. I saw Nell with it. It was black…”

  “I know about the book.”

  This froze me in my place. I had to suppress the excitement before he could see it. “You do?” I asked carefully.

  He nodded and finally released his nose. “I kept it.” He sank back down and sat on my bed.

  “It’s not evidence? The police should…”

  He waved a hand at me to be silent. “The police never saw it.” He avoided my stare, finding the floor fascinating as he continued. “I figured if they thought about letting Nell get away with this, then I would bring it up, but that never happened. She was guilty, and she confessed to it. She…that wasn’t the sister that I knew from our childhood, you know.” His voice grew distant. “She was a good little sister. She played hopscotch and fantasized about being a princess when she was little. She was no different than Mona is now, or you and Neive as girls.”

  I saw him wince as he mentioned my twin’s name.

  Breathing out through his nose, he said, not looking up, “After high school, Nelly just disappeared for seven years. I never saw or heard from her in that time. I sometimes wondered if she was dead. Then one day, she just popped back up and moved in with your mother and me when you and Neive were just babies. She babysat you two and had a job and a boyfriend. She seemed normal other than a few occasional late nights and sometimes showing up with random bruises.

  “The book you’re talking about is a little black scribbler I got for her for her birthday after she moved in with us.” He almost smiled as he said, “I had forgotten it was her birthday and picked up something at the local drugstore. I hadn’t seen her in seven years. I was bound to forget the day. Anyway, it was cheap, but she seemed thrilled.”

  His nostalgic tone faded to something dark. “She had that damn thing filled with evil words. Nothing in it made sense, and that bitch had it with her when she…murdered…” He didn’t finish, clearing his throat.

  The man I barely knew was shaken by the memory, and I wondered if this was a good idea after all. He’d never spoken this much to me in a year, and it felt as if I shouldn’t speak at all, but I had a question.

  Part of me had wanted to ask him why he didn’t tell me about Nell’s escape from the institute five years ago, but instantly I knew. Like any father or parent, he was protecting me. He couldn’t protect my sister, and I’d never considered what that must have felt like for him.

  The late nights. The avoidance of the family. It made more sense than it should have.

  Touching my forehead with my fingertips, I sat down beside him on my bed. I could almost feel his frustration. “And you found the book and kept it?”

  “I’m not sure why I kept it, but yes I did. Other than you, it was the only thing there when…It was something I’d given her.” He wiped the palms of his hands against his knees, sounding guilty.

  “Where is it?”

  His head jerked towards me as if I’d betrayed him. “Why?”

  “I want to read it.”

  “Why? It makes no sense.”

  “I need to.” After a pause, I added, “Dad, I have to.”

  His eyes were red but not teary as he stared at me, assessing my request. “Basement, in a box, but don’t expect me to tell you which one or go looking for it for you. Your mother’s reorganized that basement too many times over.”

  There he was. That was the dad I was used to. The assertive, serious, and to-the-point man.

  “Thank you.” I offered a weak smile.

  He reached over and patted my knee as if it were something he had to do rather than wanted to. Standing, he sauntered out of my room, closing the door lightly behind him without a backwards glance.

  I didn’t hear Mom and him argue for the rest of the night. In fact, the Fuller residence was suspiciously quiet for once.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I waited until midnight to sneak out of my bedroom.

  Keeping my cellphone in my oversized pajama pocket in case Aidan called, I made my way down the stairs.

  Silence and darkness reigned, humbling the household, making it different somehow. I avoided every creak that I’d known of since I was ten. I was sure Mona had figured them out by now too.

  It wasn’t until I reached the basement door off the kitchen that I paused.

  I couldn’t help it. I glanced at the picture on the wall before opening the basement door.

  My hair was naturally blonde then, while Neive’s was still dark, like Dad’s. Otherwise, we twin girls looked the same. We had the same smile, nose, forehead, skin, basically everything except hair and eye color. She looked happy in the picture. Her chin was tilted up while mine was down. Sometimes I’d wished she were still around. I knew she couldn’t be, but to have her around while growing up would have been nicer than hiding a picture in the hallway.

  Forcing myself to look away from the photo, nursing the rekindling ache that came with it, I felt my way down the first step before my hand found the light switch.

  Closing the door behind me, I flooded the wooden stairs with light, squinting and gripping the railing for balance.

  The box with the strange cross-like thing was by my feet. At least no one had found it today.

  The basement in my house was used for two things: laundry and storage. The washer and dryer sat in the corner of the cement floor, an old ripped-up rug used as a path from the stairs to the machines. The rest was boxes and Tupperw
are tubs of storage. There was everything from baby clothes to Easter decorations to snow shoes. I had no idea why we owned snowshoes.

  An old rocking chair that Dad had started to build was partially hidden beneath piles of camping supplies, which also hadn’t been seen for several years. We used to go camping every weekend when I was younger, but that stopped shortly after Neive died. I didn’t think Mona had ever gone camping.

  Luckily for me, my mother was a label-maniac. Every Tupperware tub had black ink scrawled over duct tape.

  I rummaged through the boxes, lifting them out of the way and popping through a few that seemed promising.

  After the seventh tub, frustration itched alongside fatigue. Nothing, absolutely nothing. There was even one marked N. Fuller, but it only contained a few of my things from when I was little, like artwork and report cards.

  Did we really need to keep all this crap? It wasn’t long before my patience became impaired and I became sloppy. I stopped rummaging through the whole box, peeking instead.

  Taking a deep breath, I set the container aside and noticed a cardboard box. The water-stained sides bulged and didn’t have a label.

  Opening the flimsy flap, I found a familiar stuffed toy, a bear that once belonged to Neive. I remember my mom thought it was funny because Neive had loved all things Australia, yet she’d adored this teddy bear. I had it in my room before all this. When I’d returned home from the Demon’s Grave, I hadn’t realized it was missing. Mom must have thrown it down here without me knowing.

  Plucking it from the box of toys, I turned it over to see a white tag with clumsy children’s writing. I stretched it straight to read it; the felt had faded some.

  Damien.

  Turning it back around, I stared at the black, shiny eyes and frowned. Nell had let us watch The Omen when we were little. It scared the crap out of both of us, but Neive named her stuffed bear after the creepy little kid. She said she’d rather he was on her side and protected her than cause her nightmares. At the time, I’d thought she was crazy, but as an adult I realized it was pretty smart.

  Standing up straight, my back twinged. It made me wonder how long I had been down here.

  Maybe this was enough rummaging for one night. Even as I thought of it, I knew I couldn’t stop. What if it was in the next box? Or what if Dad decided tomorrow that I shouldn’t see it and took it away?

  Turning, I nearly ran into a tower of boxes, and my toe collided with a wooden crate. My other foot kicked something across the floor as I tried to regain my balance. Raising my hands to prevent Tupperware containers from toppling, I waited until they steadied. With imminent danger averted, I hissed a curse and felt the pain rocket through my socked foot. I grabbed my toe in a tight grip and then noticed what I’d kicked.

  Beneath the first wooden step was a dark, thin notebook.

  It was a hard-covered book that was about as tall as my hand. The binding was bent and worn, but otherwise it appeared unharmed. Hobbling forward, I picked it up and brushed a film of dust from the blank cover. It must have been on top of a box or between them to fall out like that. Breathing out slowly, I opened it, hearing the binding creak.

  Written in black ink, I read: The Midnight Ruling.

  Mud from a bodiless grave, I read. The hair and blood…

  CHAPTER NINE

  I patted the sand to secure it in the plastic yellow bucket. I used the watering can to dampen it and pressed down on the sand again.

  To make a successful sandcastle, you had to add water.

  Overhead, only a few nonthreatening clouds powdered the sky, offering little relief from the heat.

  “I found it!”

  I looked up in time to see five-year-old Neive climb into the sandbox. Her one hand gripped a generous helping of protruding blades of grass.

  “I’ll make a forest for the castle.” Neive plopped down in the sand beside me.

  I nodded and watched my child-like hands add more sand to my bucket.

  “Nora,” Neive said in a whisper.

  I looked up at her.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked and jerked her head left, her mahogany ponytail swinging at a wild arc.

  “No.”

  “Over there.” She pointed to the tree closest to the alley. The large oak had been trimmed back several times over the years. The amputated stumps had greyed and left a wide view of the gate leading to the alleyway.

  The shadow created by the tree had grown darker. I rubbed my eyes with my forearm, it being the only spot that wasn’t sprinkled with sand, and squinted at the spot again. It was as though the sun had no influence on the space. It was so dark beneath the tree that the trunk was a faint outline.

  “Over here,” a voice whispered from the dark.

  “Do you hear it now?” Neive scrambled to her feet, forgetting the grass she’d dropped.

  Something shifted from the blackness. The shadow salivated, inching out into the light, contaminating the light as the darkness took on a shape. Strings of the oily black clung to him from the tree—as if the darkness were pieces of his nature.

  I looked to Neive, thinking we’d be safe in the light, until the man stepped out into it. Damien. He didn’t squint as the sun shadowed his sculpted facial feature, every edge distinct and perfect. He didn’t cast a shadow himself, something that seemed as unnatural as he was.

  He towered over us, and his crow-colored hair shimmered blue highlights in the sun.

  Obsidian eyes met mine, glimmering as if we were sharing a private joke. His skin reminded me of snow reflecting the sun, and I raised a hand to shield my eyes.

  He was breathtaking. I’d almost forgotten how shocking he could be. My stomach seized, and my heart stopped for the fleeting seconds of recognition.

  As usual, he wore black, a button-up shirt with a collar and pants that clung to narrow hips.

  I glanced down at myself to see that I was an adult. I knelt in the sandbox in my purple plaid pajama shorts and white long-sleeved shirt, the clothes I’d fallen asleep in.

  At the same time, our attention drew to the dark-haired little girl standing between us. She faced Damien, inching closer.

  I opened my mouth to warn her, but the wind strangled my voice.

  Struggling for balance, I dropped to my hands and knees and swiped for the back of Neive’s shirt to stop her.

  Blinded by sand, I shielded my face with my arms. The sand pelted my skin like tiny bullets, pinching and pricking with every blast. The sun abandoned me, leaving goosebumps to race and up and down my body in a competition.

  Rolling out of the sandbox, I waited until I felt grass before I dared to peek through watery slits. I saw only shimmering blurs of color, but I’d barely tried to focus when the ululation of wolves overrode the shriek of the storm.

  Frightened, I retained my fetal position, hoping that nothing tried to grab me when I couldn’t see. Through my lashed barrier, I thought I saw movement in front of me.

  “Neive,” I called and immediately regretted it.

  Sand, dirt, and wind hollowed out my mouth, coated my tongue with cotton.

  Struggling to breathe through the wind, I wobbled onto my knees. My eardrums ached, and the windy shrieks made it hard to find her. Swinging an arm, my fingers brushed fabric. I closed my hand around the fabric and pulled to bring her closer. The little body fell back into mine, and I wrapped my arms around her, trying to protect her.

  The windy shrieks stopped, my hair falling back over my ears, and I held stone still, anticipating a trick.

  My ears hummed, and the little girl against me breathed deep against my chest. She felt so real in my arms, flesh and bone, warm and cool at the same time. Her hair tickled my face, and I squeezed her.

  “Let go,” she whispered.

  With a jerk, she pulled away, and afraid I was hurting her, I loosened my grip. She ducked out of my arms and twisted away.

  My skin felt raw and red from the sand, and I tried to blink away tears as I reached for her again.
“Don’t go!” I coughed through the cotton balls in my mouth.

  Squinting through my watery vision, I snagged a shirt and tugged.

  That’s when I realized it wasn’t Neive.

  Wiping my eyes with my free palm, I refused to let the fabric go until I could see.

  The shock of seeing him was like jumping into a glacial lake.

  Damien knelt at the edge of the sandbox, a bemused smirk playing on his full lips as he watched my expression shift. His short raven hair fell past his ears and over his pale forehead. He looked to be a man who’d never seen sun. His asymmetrical features were like a mask—almost fake. His long lashes hooded his obsidian eyes that shone like black diamonds. I could see my vague outline reflected back to me in them.

  My hand had found the center of his shirt. Jerking my hand back to my stomach, I unconsciously wiped it on my hip and fell back with a ragged gasp, still tasting sand.

  Looking around the small backyard, I realized Neive wasn’t there. That just left Damien. One of the times I was alone with him, I’d vomited hair.

  Cringing, I peeked up at the caliginous sky; not even the stars twinkled. I don’t know how I could even see Damien or the yard, but somehow I could in the pitch black.

  “I’m dreaming again,” I said hoarsely.

  “I interrupted,” Damien admitted, unashamed.

  We stared at each other for several prolonged seconds before I could finally work my mind into forming a question. “You interrupted my dream? It’s really you?” I heard the skepticism in my own voice.

  “Yes,” he said.

  I swallowed hard past the grit in my throat and sat back on my legs. “Why are you here?”

  “You are ignoring the warnings.” He lifted Nell’s black book from his side and wiggled it for me to see.

  My eyes widened, and I reached to snatch it away. “Give it back.”

  Jerking it away, he held it behind him and out of my reach, “It’s all yours, Nora. This is a dream, remember?”