Coldhearted (9781311888433)

by Matthews, Melanie

  Out of the corner of her eye, she thought that she saw someone. She was afraid to look, but did, and discovered that there was no one in her room. She thought that she saw another movement above her head. She looked up to see the little chandelier swaying like someone had gently pushed it. She removed her blanket and stood up, trying to balance herself on the bed. When she was satisfied that she wouldn’t fall, she reached up and steadied the chandelier.

  Stung, she jerked her hand back, holding it against her other one, soothing it. The brightly-lit chandelier, despite being on for hours, was ice cold. She collapsed back down on her bed and wrapped the blanket around her, but it didn’t feel like a warm, comforting blanket. It felt like someone’s cold and calculating arms were wrapped around her body.

  “Edie,” a voice whispered in her ear. “Don’t you want to join your parents?”

  She leapt off the bed and realized that she still had her ear buds secured. She yanked them out and threw the iPod on the floor…next to her blanket. How…?

  She looked at her bed and discovered a depression into the mattress, a sunken spot right behind where she’d been sitting, moments ago. Now an invisible person was sitting on her bed.

  She stifled a scream and closed her eyes, counting ten Mississippis, while clutching her necklace for security.

  “Eleven Mississippi,” she added for good measure, and then opened her eyes.

  The depression was gone; her mattress was undisturbed. She was still cold but not freezing like she’d been before. She couldn’t see her breath, as she inhaled, then exhaled, to calm her racing heart. As it slowed to a normal rhythm, she retrieved her blanket and placed it back on the bed, then her iPod. She could hear a song playing and secured one ear bud, listening in. It wasn’t a song; it was a children’s prayer:

  Now I lay me down to sleep

  I pray the Lord my soul to keep

  If I should die before I wake

  I pray the Lord my soul to take

  It ended, followed by white noise, then nothing. She closed her eyes and said a prayer of her own. When she was done, she checked the iPod. The pop song that she’d been listening to was still playing, as if it’d never been interrupted. She sat on the bed, and rocked back and forth, praying again, but now it was a plea for her sanity to return. When she still felt the same, she remembered the chapel. That’d be a better venue. She bundled up and went outside. It was night and freezing cold. Light snow was falling, but it seemed like it was purposely dumping itself on her.

  Flood lights around the house illuminated the front. She realized that the maze connected to the chapel. You couldn’t reach the chapel without going through the maze first. The hedge labyrinth started in the front, and then wound around the back of the house, where if you managed not to give up, took you inside the chapel.

  She heard a door creak open behind her.

  “Edie?”

  She yelped and turned to discover her uncle, standing at the threshold with bare feet. He was only wearing a wrinkled white T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He had green eyes, and his hair was black like her dad’s, except Uncle Landon’s was long, secured into a ponytail. Edie had gotten her blonde hair from her mom.

  One hand was resting on the doorframe, while the other held a newly-lit cigarette between two fingers.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  No.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  He took a drag, and then exhaled, blowing out a trail of smoke. “What’re you doing out here?”

  “Why is the maze attached to the chapel?” she asked instead.

  Uncle Landon took another drag, then exhaled, and joined Edie outside, sinking his bare feet into the snowy ground. “It’s about the journey,” he finally replied, and then flicked ash on the snow, melting it. “The journey of life,” he clarified. “Life isn’t a straight course, Edie. There are twists and turns and obstacles, yeah? You’ll take wrong turns. You’ll make wrong choices, but eventually, if you persevere, if you want it bad enough, you won’t give up, and you’ll make it to the end.” He put the cigarette back in his mouth again.

  “The chapel’s at the end?”

  “The chapel represents the prize, Edie,” he said in a muffled voice, the cigarette being an obstacle that he was unwilling to remove.

  “And what’s the prize?”

  He took another drag, and then exhaled, withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth. “Why, immortality, of course. What’s the point of living and suffering if there isn’t a reward?”

  “Have you gone through the maze?” she asked.

  Instead of immediately answering, he finished his cigarette, and then snuffed it out into the snow; smoke rose from the ground into the form of a stretched finger, pointing up at the starry sky.

  “No,” he finally replied succinctly.

  “You mean you haven’t started, or you’ve gotten lost, and had to turn around?”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I haven’t started.”

  “Why?”

  He let out a small smile. “I’m afraid.”

  Edie advanced, but still kept some distance between them. After all, they were practically strangers, despite sharing the same blood.

  “You’re afraid if you can’t reach the chapel, you won’t be granted immortality?”

  He shook his head, causing his ponytail to sway; his hair was damp from the fallen snow. “No, it’s not like that. Like I said, the maze represents life, or better yet, our mortality on this earth. The chapel represents immortality, admission into Heaven. Even though they’re representations, they’re fully functional. So, if I fail on earth, then Heaven is out of reach, thus a feeling of rejection, of dismissal. I am condemned to an everlasting death, as if I’d never existed at all.”

  “If you don’t try, you’ll never know,” she pointed out.

  “That’s just it: I’m afraid to try because I’m certain I’d fail. I’d rather just avoid it than face that reality.”

  “You mean face the truth?”

  He nodded and lit another cigarette. “You understand, Edie.” He took a slow drag, enjoying every bit of the tobacco, and then exhaled. “It’s all about truth and being too afraid to know it, to keep yourself in the dark, because in dark places, you can’t see the sins you’ve committed.” He paused, and then continued, “Romans, chapter 3, verse 23: ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’”

  Edie added, “Romans, chapter 3, verse 24: ‘and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.’”

  Uncle Landon smiled while blowing out a trail of smoke. “Through his sacrifice, yes, we are saved.” His smile faded. “On the cross, when Jesus knew he had to die, so others could live, suffering, he still cried out, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!’

  You see, he too was afraid. He was afraid even though he’d never committed a sin. So I ask you Edie: why should I, a sinful man, not be afraid to face the truth?”

  She didn’t know how to reply, so instead, she asked, “Is that why you write stories because you feel you can control your characters’ fates when you can’t control your own?”

  Uncle Landon looked at her curiously. “My brother was right: you’re smart as a whip.”

  “My dad said that?” she asked, on the verge of crying.

  Uncle Landon nodded. “Loren said you were smart and beautiful and you made him very proud.”

  The tears fell then. She was wiping them away when she felt an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go inside,” he encouraged softly. Uncle Landon guided her back into the house while she dried her face. He finished his cigarette and snuffed it out into a nearby ashtray.

  “Do you miss him?” she asked, considering her uncle had yet to shed a tear.

  “Every day,” he replied softly.

  “Then why haven’t you cried?” she asked rather harshly.

  Uncle Landon hesitated, and then said, “I’ve cried oceans, Edie. I don’t think I can
cry anymore.”

  Edie thought that if her uncle were to cut his hair, he’d look exactly like her dad. But he wasn’t her dad. Her dad was dead, along with her mom. Uncle Landon was all she had now, and even though he wasn’t the most attentive, he was better than being alone.

  She took a tentative step forward, initiating a hug. He hesitated, and then lightly wrapped his arms around her. They embraced. It was the first time that they’d ever hugged. At the funeral, he’d given her a light pat on her back, afraid to touch her. He still seemed afraid, holding her gently with a space between their bodies. He was the first to let go.

  It seemed that he couldn’t quite accept the fact that a real person was in his life.

  “Sweet dreams,” he said, and went back to his sanctuary.

  ****

  It was midnight.

  Edie was lying awake in bed, unable to sleep, thus, unable to dream. She thought that she heard a shout, but ignored it, until she heard it again, and then realized it was her uncle.

  A deep voice cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!”

  She rushed out, looked all around, and then found her uncle, still in his T-shirt and jeans, lying on the sofa in the living room. His eyes were closed, and his teeth were chattering, but he didn’t seem cold. He was actually sweating buckets.

  She shook him awake. He opened his eyes and bolted up. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Uncle Landon was speechless. His eyes were darting back and forth until he found her, and then he opened his mouth, finding his voice. “I was having a nightmare.” He grabbed his head. “But it was so real!”

  Edie synched the robe around her and sat on the coffee table, facing him. “What happened?”

  “I…I was being…crucified.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Guess we shouldn’t talk about such heavy, theological stuff right before bed, yeah?” He was trembling. “Why am I so cold? And sweaty?” he added, feeling his wet face.

  Edie went to a nearby closet, where she retrieved a blanket, and then brought it back to him. He wrapped it around his body, still shivering. She was cold too, feeling icy fingertips dance along her spine, but right now, she was more concerned with her uncle than herself.

  “Uncle Landon, maybe you should go to your room,” she suggested. “Lie down in bed.”

  He shook his head and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, letting every bit of tobacco enter his lungs, and then he exhaled, slowly.

  A smile spread across his face. “All better now,” he said, self-diagnosing.

  “That’s not good for your health, you know,” she lectured mildly.

  He took another drag, and then exhaled. “Neither are nightmares,” he countered with a wry smile.

  Chapter 10

  Edie did her best to stay awake during math but it was hard.

  One, she hadn’t gotten any sleep the previous night. Two, she hated math, and it took a fun teacher to keep her awake. Mr. Droll was the very opposite of his name. Severe, with a bad comb-over, and pants hiked too far up his chest, the elderly teacher needed to retire—now. She jumped for joy when the bell rang and went on to English.

  Mrs. Featherstone looked up and smiled at Edie, but she didn’t move from her desk, didn’t say anything. Edie kept her distance out of respect, figuring Mrs. Featherstone would approach when she was ready. Mason arrived just after Edie, gave a nod to Mrs. Featherstone, and then greeted Edie with a big grin.

  “Hey, Edie, so how’s your day going so far?”

  “Good.” She took her seat, and then frowned. “I’m lying, actually. I had math first period with Mr. Droll, and I was actually contemplating suicide.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, taking his seat behind her. “I took calculus last year and barely passed. If his voice doesn’t put you to sleep, it’s him always repeating everything over and over, or clicking his pen all the time, or that facial tick—and I know it’s not his fault—but it’s really annoying.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Is there another teacher who I could take for calculus? You know, just switch classes?”

  Mason shook his head. “Sorry, Edie. You’re doomed.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Bummer.”

  “Hey, Edie,” a deep, sexy voice greeted her.

  She turned and saw Quinn, the football player. He was tall and handsome with a smug demeanor. Quinn McDermott was who Rochelle had cheated on Mason with, so Edie didn’t like him very much, but she smiled, being a nice person.

  “Hey,” she greeted back.

  Quinn gave her a genuine smile back. “So…got a date for the Halloween dance?”

  She was taken aback, not knowing what to say.

  Mason helped her out. “Yeah, she’s going with me.” He sounded…territorial.

  She hadn’t really thought about it, with everything going on, like her losing her mind, but…okay.

  Quinn’s smile faded, as if he were truly disappointed that Edie already had a date. He gave her one last look, and then turned toward the front. A girl with pink-dyed hair—Candie, Edie remembered from her psych class—was sitting behind Quinn, looking expectant, as if she were waiting for him to turn around and ask her to the dance. Quinn denied her, flipping haphazardly through his textbook. Candie visibly sank into her seat.

  Mason leaned forward and whispered, “Would you like to go to the dance with me?”

  Edie smiled. “Yes.”

  He smiled back. “Great.”

  “When’s the dance?” she asked.

  “A few weeks from now, so we’ll have time to figure out what we want to go as.”

  “Okay, great,” she said, elated that she’d finally been asked to a dance.

  Her blissful thoughts were interrupted when the intercom in the classroom came to life, and a feminine voice said, “Miss St. John to the principal’s office, please.”

  Edie’s happy bubble just popped.

  Most of the class performed a collective “ooh” sound, as if she were in trouble. Am I in trouble? Edie stayed glued to her seat until Mrs. Featherstone laid a gentle hand atop hers.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. Go on, now.” Mrs. Featherstone patted Edie’s hand, and then withdrew her own. “You won’t miss anything.”

  Edie gave Mrs. Featherstone a small smile of gratitude, and then stepped away from her desk. To Mason, Edie smiled crookedly, embarrassed, but he gave her a warm smile back, as if there were nothing to be worried about. It was a sweet gesture on his part, but she still left the classroom with butterflies in her stomach. Even though she’d done nothing wrong, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in trouble.

  Her heart was racing as she approached the main office door. A hand shot out and grabbed the knob before she could.

  “Edie?” a familiar voice called out.

  She turned, and said, “Russ—I mean, Mr. B. I’ve been called to the principal’s office.”

  Russell frowned. “Me too.”

  Uh-oh. They were both in trouble.

  Edie and Russell started out walking side by side, but as they approached the narrow hallway that led to Principal Jennings’s office, he allowed her to go first, and then followed. Principal Jennings’s door was open and Russell closed it after he and Edie had entered. The principal was seated at her desk. A woman was standing beside her with platinum blonde hair styled into a pixie cut.

  A girl with dirty blonde hair was seated as well, her back to Edie. Edie recognized her immediately. It was Rochelle Lafayette. She turned around and gave Edie an I’ve-got-you kind of smile. Edie noticed that the bruises on her neck had almost disappeared.

  Apparently she was feeling much better.

  “Edie, Russell, please sit,” Principal Jennings said, gesturing at two vacant chairs.

  Edie did with Russell next to her.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, not the principal, but the woman who was standing.

  She didn’t answer him and turned toward Edie instead. “Edie, I’m Abigail Winters, the su
perintendent. Something disturbing has been brought to our attention.”

  Principal Jennings leaned forward. “Rochelle has come to us with a very serious matter.” She swiveled her eyes between Edie and Russell as she spoke. “She’s accused you, Edie, and you, Mr. Ballantine, of an inappropriate relationship.”

  Edie’s heart was racing and she was speechless.

  “That’s preposterous,” Russell denied, in full use of his vocal cords.

  He was so calm, but then again, he’d been accused of acting inappropriately before.

  Rochelle jumped up. “He was at her house. For hours,” she added dramatically.

  Now Edie jumped up. “What’re you doing, sneaking around my house?”

  Then Russell jumped up, standing between Edie and Rochelle, his back to Edie, protective. He turned toward the principal and superintendent, while still maintaining a protective stance. “I was at Edie’s house yesterday, but only to discuss the tragedy in her life. Her parents are dead, as you know, and during class yesterday, she was disengaged, upset. I offered to come by her house, talk with her. I admit, it probably wasn’t the best course of action to take, but I can assure you, we weren’t alone. Her uncle was there the entire time.”

  He was leaving a lot out. He wasn’t exactly lying, but he wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth, either.

  Superintendent Winters addressed Edie. “Edie, is this true?”

  Edie nodded, and let out a weak, “Yes.”

  “They’re lying,” Rochelle accused. “You should’ve seen them yesterday after I’d been nearly strangled to death by Edwina. Mr. B jumped to her defense! He was practically all over her.” She glared at Edie. “I just happened to be driving by your house when I saw Mr. B’s car there.”

  “And you stayed for hours?” Principal Jennings asked in a disbelieving tone. “Why?”

  “I…I had car trouble. The engine wouldn’t start.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire. Edie mentally shook her head at Rochelle’s audacity.

  Although Rochelle had yet to present any visual evidence, so maybe her car had died, along with her cell phone.