by S. H. Kolee
"I understand," Sarah said, looking at me sadly. "I mean, I understand why you won't date Simon. And I guess I understand not wanting to be friends with him. Not after tonight. But are you just going to avoid him now?"
I shook my head. "No. I don't want to make it weird for everyone. It's inevitable that I see him. He's Grant's cousin. But I just don't want to get too involved. It's one thing to spend time with Simon in a group setting. It's another thing to spend time with him alone." I didn't add that I was planning on begging off any get-togethers that he would be a part of. I didn't tell Sarah because I knew she would protest. Besides, I knew it wasn't feasible to avoid Simon completely. I wouldn't always know beforehand when he would be around. But I could try to minimize contact with him as much as possible.
"I don't know what to say," Sarah said, looking at me sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, Caitlin. I feel so powerless. I don't know what to do."
I smiled at her gently. "There's nothing to do except hope that tonight was an anomaly. Maybe the visions will fade back to me just being a spectator. Maybe they'll lessen. I don't know. But I can handle it. Whatever my mind throws at me, I can handle it." This was a lie. I had felt something break in me earlier in my vision. I don't know if it had been my sanity or my desire to continue to live. I wasn't sure at this point and I didn't want to examine it. And the last thing I wanted was for Sarah to worry more than she already was.
"Now, let's get back to those pancakes," I said brightly, ignoring Sarah's answering frown. "Especially since I remember Jenny saying she was coming over for breakfast."
Sarah let me change the subject as I laughed about some of the costumes I had seen last night. She watched me make the pancake batter and I pretended not to see the growing concern in her eyes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mercifully, the rest of the day was uneventful. Jenny came over as promised, and we gorged on pancakes as we kept the conversation light. Jenny seemed to accept my explanation of having drank too much the previous night for my erratic behavior and I was grateful for that. It made it easier to ignore Sarah's occasional sidelong glances when she thought I wasn't looking.
I changed the topic every time Simon came up. Sarah knew not to bring him up, but Jenny didn't hesitate to talk about him. I couldn't tell her I wasn't planning on being friends with him anymore because there was no explanation I could give without revealing too much.
So when Jenny talked about how upset the crowd had been when Simon didn't return to the stage, even when Grant and Marcus tried to placate them with some old Henchmen tunes with Marcus trying to fill in the vocals, I asked her about her progress with Marcus. Fortunately, she sunk her teeth into the topic with relish and I wasn't required to do more than nod and make encouraging sounds.
By the time Jenny left, it was mid-afternoon. Jenny was going out to dinner with some of the girls from her dorm and Sarah and I declined her invitation to join them, claiming exhaustion which was the truth.
Sarah and I hung out in comfortable silence for the rest of the afternoon, watching one mindless TV show after another. Even though today was actually Halloween, we didn't have to worry about trick-or-treaters since the neighborhood was filled with college students. We were just discussing what to do about dinner when there was a knock at the door. I tensed, hoping it wasn't Simon, which didn't explain my disappointment when Sarah answered the door and Grant stepped in.
"Hi Grant," I said as he fell into the recliner.
"How are you feeling?" Grant asked, looking genuinely concerned. I had been afraid that he would be mad at me for taking Simon away and ruining their show.
"I'm okay," I replied with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry for wrecking things last night. I couldn't seem to convince Simon to stay."
Grant smiled gently. "That's okay. When he came back in, he pretty much told me there was no way in hell he was getting back on stage and that he was taking you home. He said you were pretty shaken up. My girls are more important than some show. I would've come too but he wouldn't let me."
I felt warmth pool inside me at his words. I knew how much the Henchmen meant to Grant, and the fact that he was so cavalier about their ruined show made me realize how much he cared about me. I felt as if I didn't deserve his affection.
"I promise next time I freak out, I do it in private."
Grant furrowed his forehead. "Why did you freak out? And what exactly happened last night after you guys left? I went over to Simon's earlier today and he looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep and a semi-truck had steamrolled over him. He told me he didn't want any company and when I asked him what was wrong, he just shut the door in my face." Grant looked indignant at his last statement.
I steeled myself against Grant's comments. I didn't need to know how much Simon had been affected by last night. Sarah had sat down next to me on the couch, looking at me worriedly.
"Nothing," I said. "He just walked me home and then left. And I just had too much to drink last night."
Grant nodded and I wasn't sure if he accepted my explanation but he didn't comment on it any further. Sarah mentioned that we were just deciding on what to do for dinner and asked if he and Marcus wanted to join us.
Grant nodded eagerly. "Simon had said yesterday before the party that he wanted everyone to come over for dinner tonight, but when I brought it up again today, he said not to bother to come over unless I wanted to eat his fist for dinner." Grant shook his head but laughed. "Of course, that was before he slammed the door in my face."
Sarah gasped. "That's an awful thing to say!"
Grant waved his hand dismissively. "Simon didn't mean it. He tends to just spout off when he's annoyed." Grant quickly looked at me. "Not that he would do that to you girls. It's just cause we're like brothers."
I pretended not to notice Grant's defense of Simon to me, as if Grant didn't want me to think badly of Simon. To give me any hesitation to be with him. Grant didn't realize that there was already no possibility between me and Simon.
"Tell Marcus to come over," Sarah said. "We'll order out. I don't think anyone's in the mood to cook today." She glanced over at me when she said this.
Grant texted Marcus, too lazy to go downstairs again. I apologized to Marcus too about last night when he arrived, but he just smiled and said it was no big deal. Like I knew he would.
We ended up ordering Chinese food and continued to watch bad television. Fortunately, nothing more was said about Simon.
**********
I was settling into bed after having washed my face and brushed my teeth when my cell phone rang. I frowned and checked the time. It was almost midnight. I couldn't imagine who would be calling me so late.
I looked at the caller ID and saw a number with an area code I didn't recognize. I almost ignored it, but thinking that it could be important for someone to be calling so late, I answered it right before it was directed to voicemail.
"Hello?"
"Caitlin?" It was a female voice I didn't recognize.
"This is Caitlin." Did telemarketers call this late and on your cell phone, no less? Did they know your name?
"Caitlin." The voice sounded relieved. "I'm sorry to call so late but I was finally able to get your number."
"Um, who is this?" I felt anxiety start to bloom in my stomach.
"It's your Aunt Brenda."
Aunt Brenda? I didn't have an Aunt Brenda. Well, that is I didn't know of an Aunt Brenda. I knew nothing about my dad's side of the family since I had never met any of them.
"Aunt Brenda?"
I heard the woman sigh heavily. "I guess George has never mentioned me."
"No," I replied slowly. "But my father hasn't really mentioned anyone in his family." This conversation felt surreal. I had an Aunt Brenda and she was calling me on my cell phone, well past a reasonable hour to call someone, especially for the first time.
"We're your family too, Caitlin," she said with what sounded like determination. "Even if George wants to deny it, you're connected to us."
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"I'm sorry," I replied, not sure I was liking where this conversation was going. As much as I disliked my father sometimes, I didn't want to listen to this woman speak badly of him. I didn't know this woman. "Is there a reason you're calling me now? How did you get my number?"
"There are more Caitlin Kiles out there than I thought," the woman said, sounding bemused. "And even after I called them all, none of them were you." It wouldn't be since we didn't have a landline in the apartment and my cell phone number wasn't listed. "I was finally able to get it from your grandmother. She had somehow wrangled it from George on one of the few occasions that he spoke to her. She convinced him that she needed it in case anything ever happened to him, but George made her promise never to use it unless it was urgent."
I had a grandmother. I had a grandmother and an Aunt Brenda. And there was something urgent. My mind whirled, trying to make this part of my reality.
"Okay, so you got my number. From my...grandmother." The word sounded alien on my tongue. "I don't mean to sound rude, but you still haven't explained the reason for the call."
"I don't think this is something I can explain to you over the phone. Not everything, anyways." She spoke cautiously, as if she was gauging how to approach me, to anticipate my reaction. I figured that was hard since she didn't know me at all. "You're in danger. Real danger. And there isn't much time."
"Danger?" I repeated, my pulse quickening. "What kind of danger?"
"Someone's trying to kill you."
**********
I went numb and my fingers almost dropped the phone at her words. I grasped it tighter, feeling as if it were my anchor in a world gone crazy.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" I hissed. "Who the hell is this? How did you get my number?"
"Caitlin," she said softly. "This isn't a joke. I'm really your aunt. George is my younger brother. Eunice, your mother, was my best friend growing up. Did you know that? That's how she met George. After she passed away, he wouldn't let us see you anymore. He wouldn't see us anymore. Do you still have the jade elephant? Your mom and I have a matching set that we bought when we were much younger. You used to be mesmerized by it when you were little. Your mom used to put it by your bed so that you could stare at it until you fell asleep."
I felt a pang in my chest as my eyes rested on my nightstand, where a jade elephant sat about two inches tall. It was one of the few things I had from my mother, one of the few things that my father had admitted belonged to her, although it had been like pulling teeth. Was it true? Was this my aunt?
"I still have it," I whispered, barely audible. I wouldn't have been surprised if this woman, my aunt, hadn't heard me but she sucked in her breath at my reply.
"I need to talk to you," my aunt said. "In person." She paused. "I hate to admit that I know nothing about you except your age. Are you in college now?"
"Yes," I answered, not sure how to handle all of this. Her assertion that someone was trying to kill me sounded ridiculous. Did my father cut off contact with his sister because she was crazy? Then again, I was in no position to judge what was crazy and what was sane. As unbelievable as it sounded, it didn't sound so farfetched considering what I was going through.
"What school do you go to? Are you a senior?"
"Yes. I'm in a small college in Rochester." I still wasn't convinced enough to tell this woman where exactly I went to school. "Where are you calling from?"
"I live in Connecticut. Unfortunately, it's a pretty long drive out to Rochester and we don't have much time so I'll just need to explain everything to you as best as I can over the phone."
She paused and I just waited. There was nothing I could possibly say in response to her telling me that someone was trying to kill me so I decided to just let her talk. If she started going off the deep end, I could just hang up on her and block her number.
I heard her take a deep breath. "Do you have visions?" she asked, not mincing her words.
I felt as the wind had been knocked out of me. How could this woman possibly know about my visions? I wondered if this really was my aunt and my visions were hereditary. That she had visions too. That meant I could finally have some answers to what was happening to me.
"Yes," I replied, not wanting to give her any more information than necessary, wanting her to do all the talking so that I could decide what to do with what she told me.
"It's a Kile family trait," she said with a humorless laugh. "One that only the women in the family share, although not every female in our family has them. The visions...they can be confusing if you don't understand what's happening in them. They're frightening regardless of whether or not you understand why you're having them. They're visions of the future. Of how these people will die. Or more accurately, how they'll be killed."
I shook my head at her words, even though she couldn't see me. "No, that's not true," I replied. None of the people I had visions about had died. Not that I knew of anyway.
"Caitlin, I know this will be hard for you to accept but many of the people you've seen in your visions have been killed." She paused. "You just think they're alive."
I felt anger start to well up inside me. This was ridiculous. Maybe this was my aunt, and maybe it was true that in my messed up family women had disturbing visions. But I knew it wasn't true that these people were actually dying. Being killed. Maybe this was the next stage of crazy. Maybe I would eventually start to believe my visions. I had a sick feeling that my family was cursed with mental illness.
"How is that possible?" I asked fiercely. "How could these people be dead but yet I still see them walking around? Are you trying to tell me they're ghosts or something? How do ghosts interact with everyone, seemingly living a normal life? That's insane."
"They're not ghosts. They're vardogers."
"They're what?" I was really starting to think it was a bad idea to talk to this woman.
"Vardogers," she repeated. "They're sort of like shadows of people. Everyone has a vardoger that looks just like them. When you get a sense of deja vu, like you've already experienced something, it's your connection to your vardoger making you feel that way. Your vardoger precedes you, visible but invisible at the same time."
"So you're telling me that there are dopplegangers out there and they're killing people off," I asked impatiently, disbelief coloring my voice. This sounded like some bad plot to a horror movie. "That's insane."
"No," she replied. "Dopplegangers are a figment of imagination, created to be a cheap thrill in some Hollywood movie. Vardogers are real. They're just hard to see because you don't know to look for them. They can't speak unless they enter a human body. Vardogers used to be harmless. They had no desire to be a part of the real world. They're not really people, just a carbon copy, so they have no feelings, no wishes. But this changed about a few centuries ago."
"Right, a few centuries ago," I repeated sarcastically. But despite my skepticism, I felt fear clenching my stomach. This woman had to be crazy. There was no way anything she was saying was true. It was laughable but I wasn't laughing. Because a part of me felt like all the pieces of the puzzle were finally settling into place.
"It's true, Caitlin," she said quietly. "About three hundred years ago something changed. We're not sure why, but suddenly the vardogers weren't content to just be shadows anymore. They wanted to overtake their human counterparts. A select group of people started being able to predict which vardogers would turn through their visions. They're called seers. The women in our family started having these visions. The Kile women generations before us started trying to stop them."
"So I come from a long line of vardoger slayers," I said, trying to sound bored but my voice shook, betraying my growing fear.
The woman gave a humorless laugh. "That's not too far from the truth. The vardogers are able to enter their person's body but only for a few moments at a time because they're not strong enough to keep hold. The person's soul automatically expels them although the actual person is usually never aware of what'
s happening. Vardogers can't talk, can't touch other people unless they're in their person's body. Most people would never realize that they're looking into the eyes of a vardoger. But seers can see the flicker of evil in their eyes."
She took a deep breath and continued. "By entering their person frequently over a period of time, vardogers strengthen the connection to their person. We don't think this allows them to hurt other people, but it gives them the power to physically harm their person. Kill them. The vardoger is able to overtake their person once the connection is strong enough to kill them. If the vardoger enters the body at the same moment the person's soul is slipping away, they can permanently attach themselves inside. So the person you see is no longer the same person. That person has died. You're seeing the vardoger that's stolen the body."
The woman paused, as if expecting me to reply, but I stayed silent. I didn't want to believe anything she was saying but my mind was whirring, as past experiences I had long buried rose to the top, corroborating her words.
I remembered the girl from high school. I had never spoken much to her because I usually tried to keep my distance from the people that were in my visions, but she was in my geometry class and sat next to me. She seemed like a nice enough girl, but I remember one day feeling a prickling sensation of being watched and I had automatically looked over at her. Her head was turned to me, her eyes boring into mine with a look of malice I didn't understand. She held my gaze for what seemed like minutes although in reality it was only for a few seconds. She looked at me like she hated me and I didn't understand why. There was no way she could have known about my vision of her. I had no Sarah back then, no one to confide in.
She had then turned away, breaking the intense gaze. I had spent the rest of class glancing at her, but she never looked at me again. When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, she had dropped her pencil as she was packing her stuff into her backpack. I had picked it up to hand to her, wanting her to look at me so I could see the expression in her eyes. She had smiled and thanked me, her eyes clear and untroubled without a trace of the earlier malice.
