by Abigail Boyd
I tried to run faster, but my useless legs were ready to drop. The dog, snarling and snuffing, came closer, and I prepared myself to be bitten.
Then the rules changed. I was the one chasing the dog, as it ran towards the shadows, away from me. I sensed fear from the animal, and the fright was a new feeling the beast didn't recognize. I wanted to rip out its throat with my teeth. Feel the black fur split and tear beneath my mouth. Feel its blood run down my face, fresh and thick and hot.
I had to catch the dog, before it was too late for all of us.
When I awoke, I felt refreshed, despite my dream. The weird withdrawal symptoms weren't gone, but they had mellowed significantly. I stretched and got out of bed; it was only 6:30 AM.
I was up before Hugh. I finally checked Claire's whiteboard. A bunch of mundane chores, nothing too serious. At least there was no lectury note about yesterday; apparently I had been given a pass, after all.
"Make breakfast" was scribbled next to an ironic smiley face doodle near the bottom. I'm a terrible cook; it is the stuff of legends. I burn everything I touch. And she knew it. But I'd already shirked a day's worth of chores, and I didn't want to give her a reason to be mad.
Retrieving a mixing bowl, I opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, cheese and milk. Cracking the eggs on the rim of the bowl, they sloshed inside, looking cheerful.
Carefully arranged recipes in cookbooks are as incomprehensible as Latin to me, but it didn't matter. Keeping my hands busy prevented my thoughts from going in the wrong direction, and there were so many wrong directions to go in.
I started humming a tuneless noise, and contemplated turning on the TV, then decided against it. I switched the milk for butter in the fridge. The dial on the stove went up another notch, and I scooped butter into a frying pan, making it sizzle.
"Are you trying to burn your house down?" Jenna asked from behind me.
I gasped. The butter tub tumbled from my hand, spoon clattering across the tile and leaving a greasy smear.
"Good job, messy," Jenna said, amused, as she sauntered into the kitchen. Her flip-flops smacked against the tile.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, so low I didn't think she would hear me. I could barely hear myself over the blood rushing behind my eardrums.
A look of hurt momentarily crossed her face. "I walked upstairs," Jenna said curtly. "I got bored waiting for you to come back, and then I couldn't find you. So here I am."
"You couldn't find me?" I repeated quizzically. I smudged the floor with paper towels. "I looked all over the place for you yesterday."
"Whatever," Jenna said, crossing her arms, but she seemed to relax. Now that I felt more natural, that I wasn't going through withdrawal as much anymore, it didn't seem as insane that she was there. But I still couldn't allow myself to get taken in by the unreality.
"You know you can't be trusted by an oven," Jenna said, more lightly. "You are standing too close. Step away."
"I'm making breakfast for Hugh," I said defensively. I could feel the thudding of my heart below my shirt. "Claire told me to. You said you walked upstairs. How?"
Jenna looked at me like I was an idiot. "Um, with these legs that I have." She slapped her tanned thighs beneath her shorts.
"That's not what I meant. Were you always such a snob?" I tossed the butter back in the fridge and swirled the frying pan. "Because I don't remember that part. Geez."
"I've always been me, if that's what you mean. Breaker of hearts, teller of truths."
I poured the egg mixture in the hot frying pan, trying to stay on task. I spilled some on the stovetop because my hands were trembling so badly. Making more chores for myself.
Jenna laughed again, a too high, clear sound, like jingling bells. It was an ethereal sound, that laugh. Like she was singing at the same time. And it was new; she hadn't laughed like that when she was alive. Her laughter had been deep and throaty, and I'd always made fun of it as being her truck driver guffaw.
"Will you quit laughing at me?"
"That's more like it," she said. "I'm glad you stopped the whole "you're dead" joke. Because that's about the unfunniest thing I've ever heard."
I sighed. How did somebody argue with a ghost?
"I wasn't joking," I said, looking at her again. With the shafts of light coming in through the windows, there was a glow to her that I hadn't detected in the dim basement. A luminosity that was definitely otherworldly. Her tan skin shimmered. I still didn't dare get closer than a yard apart.
"Your eggs are burning," she said with a smirk.
The pan was indeed smoking. Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the panhandle and shook it. The eggs were rubbery on top and blackened on the bottom, emitting thick, acrid smoke.
I transferred it to the sink and threw on the faucet. Steam and smoke hissed out like snakes.
"Something smells...like it was once food," Hugh declared, as he stepped into the kitchen.
I looked around wildly, but Jenna had disappeared again.
"Claire suggested I make breakfast," I said meekly. "There is a smiley face to prove it."
Yawning, Hugh rubbed his messy hair, the ratty blue robe he refused to throw away hanging lopsided from his shoulders. He took the pan out of my hands and began scrubbing it with a steel wool pad, grinning sympathetically at me.
"What?" I asked, irritated, my hands finding my hips. I wondered where Jenna had gone now. Maybe she's hiding in the cupboards, my always helpful brain suggested.
"Nothing! I just think its sweet."
"It's sweet that I'm incapable of making food without causing a catastrophe?" I asked grumpily.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "And the fact that you tried anyway."
He set the freshly scrubbed pan on the other stove burner, and began pulling out ingredients from the fridge.
I gave him space to fix my disaster, peering around the cupboards for some sign of Jenna. I didn't want to lose her again, whether she was a ghost or a figment of my imagination, she was something, and something was better than nothing.
That's when I noticed the black rocks on the lawn outside. Walking over the the sliding glass door, I looked closer. They weren't rocks; they were birds, dozens of them, scattered on the ground. All of them had huge, ruffled black wings.
The birds jostled each other, sending up a flurry of midnight-black feathers, poking their beaks into the ground. I became aware that Hugh was standing beside me, as captivated as I was with the scene outside.
"Have you ever seen so many birds together like that?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, not that many. I think it ended up raining last night. Maybe they're looking for worms."
A loud, twittering chorus came through the screen above the sink. Hugh continued to repair my breakfast mess, but I couldn't stop looking at the birds. With all that black, they appeared to be dressed for a funeral.
After a breakfast of french toast that was much better than anything I could have thrown together, I completed all of the chores on Claire's list. I was in no hurry to rush back downstairs. If Jenna was gone, it would depress me. If she was still there...well, I'd deal with it then.
But finally there was nothing else to occupy my time. Taking a deep breath, I went into the basement. I didn't see her until I walked towards my room. She was standing in the doorway.
"So you are still here," I said, not glancing at her.
"You sound so excited about that," Jenna said sarcastically. "I'm the one who should be pissed. You left me outside to rot all night. And then, I come home to make amends, and you ignore me."
A twinge of guilt rippled through me as I sat on the desk chair and swiveled so that I was facing away from her.
"I get that you're mad. But what do I have to do, bake you cookies?" Jenna asked in a slightly softer tone.
"I'm not mad," I said firmly, squeezing my eyes shut. "I'm just waiting for you to fade away again."
I was talking more to myself than her, but I figured that she was probab
ly a projection of my thoughts anyway.
"It took so long after you...after you didn't come back," I continued. "I thought that what I was seeing was real. It wasn't. I only just started being able to function again. You were always the one with all the answers. Without you, I couldn't find any."
"Say no more," Jenna said. I swiveled around in the chair and stared at her in surprise. She'd threw her hands up dramatically. "I'll leave you alone, since you've given up on me."
She swung out into the hall and stomped away.
"Wait!" I said, but not putting a lot of volume behind it. I peered out and saw her walk into the main basement, plopping down in an overstuffed arm chair. Her face was cloaked in shadow.
I could have gone out to her. But I didn't know how. I clicked the door shut, and sat on the bed.
Despite turning the facts over, I couldn't figure out why Jenna was back. After all the times I hoped and prayed that she'd show herself, why now? I couldn't deal with her just popping up like that, not when I'd finally started to get some normalcy back in my life.
I never would have guessed I would react this way. When I imagined her coming back, and it was often, we always threw our arms around each other in slow motion, and went right back to our normal lives. This reaction was completely new.
I had to talk to someone. Someone real.
Theo was, as always, the last contact on my phone. I hit send, my hands still shaking, and held it up to my ear. Theo normally picked up after the first ring, but this time it took four.
"Hello?" Her voice croaked out of the speaker.
"Theo?" I almost wondered if I'd called the wrong person.
"Hey, Ariel," she said, sounding as though multiple frogs were lodged between her vocal cords. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing." Just chillin' with a dead person. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today. Maybe we could check out the arcade or something."
"That sounds fun," Theo said, but I knew she was humoring me.
"You're going to say no, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was up all night last night, working on the mural. And then it just looked wrong, and I had to scrap the entire thing. So now I have to start over from scratch, my fingers are raw, and exhausted doesn't begin to cover it."
"Say no more," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "Definitely go back to sleep. That's how I felt yesterday, and a little rest made it better." Or worse. "Just let me know if you need anything."
"I will. I'm sorry," Theo repeated. "How are you doing today? Feeling better?"
"Yeah, things are fine," I lied. "Just like you said, much better now that we're out of school. I'll talk to you later."
I watched Theo's name fade and the screen go black. I couldn't stay in the house. Being cooped up was making it hard to tell reality from fantasy.
Dumping the contents of my backpack on the floor, I sat cross-legged and dug through the pile. I dragged the trash can next to me. Stacking the textbooks to be donated later to the book drive, I threw away what was mostly crumpled papers and broken pencils.
I'd been given a suggested summer reading list for AP English next year. I found it tucked in my English binder pocket. I hadn't been to the town library since it was renovated last year, and it was something to do.
I headed out and towards the stairs, careful not to glance at the armchair where Jenna had sat down.
"I'll be back," I whispered as I ascended the stairs.
I thought I heard a snort from behind me, but it could have been my imagination.
CHAPTER 6
"I'M BORED," I told Hugh, trying to sound like a regular teenager so he wouldn't hear the frazzled edge to my voice. "Can I borrow your car and drive into town?"
"Nice try," he said, without looking up from the portfolio spread on his art table. "You have a few months yet before I trust you with my wheels."
"What was the point of taking driver's training if I can't drive?" I asked.
"To drive you mad. Get it? That's what we parents like to do."
"Well, then, can you take me?" I asked in exasperation. "I just want to go to the library."
"Oh. In that case, sure," he said. Although I wondered if it freaked him out a little that his weird daughter was still interested in books the day after school just got out.
Traffic was heavy in town, with people going shopping and generally out enjoying the summer day. I noticed that the blackbirds hadn't been contained to our lawn; they seemed to be all over, choking the grass and perching on telephone poles and traffic signs.
The exterior of the library didn't look too much different, but it extended back farther, and I could see several new glass-enclosed walkways that stretched from the original part to the new wing. It remained a large structure, with blanched brick walls and copious windows. People from many of the neighboring towns came there to get books, and the library was always hosting activities.
"Just let me know when you want a ride," Hugh said. I nodded and shut the door, sighing internally that I always had to check in with him. I was a teenager; it's not like some kidnapper was going to snatch me up in broad daylight.
Stone lions stood guard at the end of the library path. Blue and silver pinwheels lined the grass, spinning gently in the breeze. I walked the winding path, beneath shady trees, and up the stairs into the library.
Inside, it smelled like new paint and old books. I passed through new metal detectors. The scratched floors had been replaced by sprawling green carpet that reminded me of the living room wallpaper back home.
The woman at the checkout desk had her back to me. She was clearing out the return box, thick brown curls pulled back in a wooden barrette. She scanned the books in her arms and set them on a rolling cart. I cleared my throat and she turned.
"Nurse Callie?" I asked with surprise. She was our school's nurse, not someone I would have expected to work there.
"Ariel, hi! How are you?" she asked brightly. "And it's just Callie here, by the way. Enjoying your summer so far?"
"It's only been one day," I smiled wryly. "But it's okay thus far, I guess. I'm not a big outdoors person, so I don't notice much of a difference. I didn't know you worked here."
"Just during the summer," she clarified. "When school's out, I split my time between here and the urgent care clinic. I try to keep busy as much as possible, it's a terrible habit. Be lazy as long as you can. What can I help you with?"
I explained that I needed a new library card, that I was killing time getting some books. She had me quickly hooked up with a new one, in gold and purple, matching Hawthorne's school colors.
"Welcome back," she said, smiling. "If you'll excuse me."
To get to the main part of the library, I walked through one of the glass corridors. It reminded me of Snow White's coffin.
In between the stacks, buttery sunshine filtered lazily through long windows. The library even provided little grocery baskets to take the load off your arms, but I thought I'd look a bit too dorky. Maybe in another twenty years.
I found the top two books on my list, My Antonia and House of the Seven Gables with the book jacket taped together. It felt good just to wander through the shelves, looking at all the worn titles and imagining who had read them before. Reaching the end of the fiction section, I came out to the back wall.
It had been turned into the fantasy category, complete with a painted mural of a red-winged dragon above the shelves. The spines of the books formed a diverse crayon box of colors, with swirling fonts and the tails of mythical beasts.
Of course, something else to remind me of Henry. I had hoped I'd left any reminders behind at Hawthorne. Fantasy novels were Henry's favorite. I'd often still seen him reading them at school, hiding them open on his lap beneath his desk.
Back when Henry was my math tutor, during one of our early session in the den, he pestered me playfully to read what he liked. I thought the whole dragon and wizard thing was a little out there, and I liked to tease him a
bout it.
"If you just gave them a try, I know you'd like them," he'd said, ever-confident as always. It was part of why I loved being around him, because I fed off of his energy.
His feet were planted on the bottom rung of the coffee table, and he was reclining back with his head on the cushions. I could still see his expression in my recollection, his dark brown hair framing his eyes.
"That's your world, not mind," I said gently.
"It's not that different," he said. "And what would be so wrong about spending some time in my world?"
He accompanied his words with a wry grin, tiny dimples appearing between his smile lines. I'd have given anything for him to kiss me then. I pushed the thought out of my head, just like all the instant, embarrassing thoughts that would pop up when I was in his presence.
"Where do you get your books? Do you just buy out the store?"
"Library, mostly," he said, shrugging. "Here, let me write a good one down for you."
He took one of the note cards we were using for Geometry terms, and scribbled an author name and title in his slanted handwriting. When he handed it to me, our fingers brushed together, lingering for just a moment. Both of us felt the stir of energy that passed between us.
"Get this one. Assassin's Apprentice. You'll like it, I swear." Tossing the pencil on the table, in almost rolled back off. He caught it easily.
"As long as you swear," I said, my breath catching.
Back in the present, I was suddenly very ready to leave. I didn't need to be thinking about him, yet he was still stubbornly stuck in my thoughts, like he'd infected my brain tissue.
Hands covered my eyes, making me gasp sharply as everything went dark.
"Guess who," a voice whispered in my ear. His voice. Henry.
His cologne swam into my nostrils, and I breathed him in. He was the only person I knew who smelled that amazing. I realized as I was feeling that way that I shouldn't be. Not about him. Not anymore.
Wrenching away from him, I backed into the fantasy bookshelf. He didn't try to hold me or protest. It was a small space; there wasn't a lot of room to put between us. He was wearing a button down shirt, the top two buttons undone, his hair disheveled.
