by Tara West
“I saved my parents,” AJ spat.
“With only a few seconds to spare.” Sophie’s hushed voice turned shrill. “Do you want to take that risk?”
Last year, AJ’s premonition helped save her parents moments before they would have been involved in a deadly car accident.
AJ heaved a sigh. Finally, she leveled Sophie with pleading eyes. “Let me talk to Mike first. I can get him to pay more attention to the road.”
But Sophie was no longer paying attention to AJ. Sophie’s gaze was focused on the back door. Her jaw dropped, and she looked ready to pass out. “Omigod!” she blurted before hastily turning around.
I turned toward the entrance. A kid with messy dark hair had just walked through the door.
I looked back toward Sophie. “Who is he?”
Sophie kept her back and shoulders ramrod straight as she whispered through clenched teeth. “Just don’t look at him.”
But AJ was still gawking at the back of the room. “I think he does know. He looks upset.”
Whoever this guy was, I suspected he was bad news. I could tell by the way Sophie’s flushed skin had turned as pale as a ghost. And considering I had seen plenty of ghosts in my lifetime, Sophie was practically glowing.
“Please don’t let him sit by me,” Sophie whispered through frozen features.
And then the boy sat in the vacant seat in front of her desk.
Chapter Two
AJ
I sat in the passenger’s seat of my brother’s truck, fuming. In fact, if I’d been a cartoon, steam would be shooting out of my ears. Sophie had sent me a text this morning that she didn’t like Mike’s driving and she was taking the bus.
The bus.
Only losers and freaks took the bus to school. The cool kids drove. And if they didn’t have their drivers’ licenses, they rode in a friend’s car. Sophie had the opportunity to ride in the truck of one of the coolest jocks in school. Instead, she’d thrown away the chance to actually look cool, and not like a moping freak, all because she didn’t feel safe.
Sure, I had to admit my brother’s driving sucked. I had already yelled at him a few times when he was checking his text messages instead of focusing on the road. But Mike wasn’t going to crash. Because if he was, I would have seen it, just like I’d saved my parents from a car crash last year.
So basically, Sophie refused to ride with us because she not only lacked faith in Mike’s driving, she lacked faith in me.
And that cut hard.
Really hard.
I crossed my arms over my chest and swore. I was just so angry. So angry, I almost didn’t see my brother speed through that red light.
I pressed against the dirt, my palms gathering dust in the cold darkness. A thin sliver of flickering light fell to my left from between the floorboards above me—his shadow passed, blocking it momentarily. Through the crack, I watched as he moved over my hiding place.
“She is not here,” an unfamiliar voice said.
Breath held and heart racing, I listened to their boot falls above me. A rat tittered somewhere behind my head, and I closed my eyes, fighting the panic that rose.
Finally, his voice. The voice of the man who would kill me given the slightest chance. “She is here.”
“We have searched the cottage,” the stranger argued.
“Not hard enough!” my tormentor barked, his deep voice booming off the walls of my home.
I whimpered, turning away from the light. Caught between the earth and the floorboards that held my enemy, I had nowhere to run. The sliding sound of a rat’s tail on the dirt moved closer.
“Come to me, my little witch,” he murmured. His heavy steps stopped over me once more, as if he could sense my presence. I could see his handsome face through that infernal crack, illuminated by my cheerfully burning fireplace: the strong curve of his chin, the dimple in one cheek. The face of an angel, the heart of the devil. “God has judged you and deemed you unworthy in His eyes. I am charged with doing my spiritual duty. You cannot hide forever….”
No. I couldn’t. But I could very well run until he decided to give up the chase.
He would not have me alive.
His face tilted down, and his brilliant blue eyes rested on me.
***
AJ
I woke with a start, and though my first instinct was to jump out of bed screaming, I couldn’t find the strength to move. My vision was blurred. The lights and walls around me blended into one big white blob. Something was beeping beside me. Was it my cell phone? It had never made that noise before. My heart pounded out a wild staccato as I recalled the dream. It had felt so real. Who was this woman and how could I keep her from being murdered?
Slowly, the room came into focus. I was sitting up in a bed. In front of me was a blank television screen set against a white wall. As I began to register my surroundings, the wild racing in my heart was replaced by a dull throbbing in my head and a burning ache in my side.
“Ugh,” I moaned. The pain all around me was worsening. I tried to lift my arm, but it seemed stuck in place. Muscles ached all over my body. What had happened?
I was vaguely aware of a warm hand clutching mine —of my mother hovering above me with red-rimmed eyes and a furrowed brow. I twitched as strands of her blonde hair tickled my nose.
“W-what happened?” I moaned, though the act of uttering those words sent a new wave of pain to my side.
Mother’s lips quivered as she spoke. “You were in an accident.”
Accident? I didn’t remember an accident. When? How? I ran a tongue over my teeth, wishing I had something to drink to quench my thirst. I tried to ask my mom more questions, but my mouth was so parched, I only managed to cough, which sent a new wave of dizzying pain across my side. The pain raced up my chest and through my extremities. I cried out.
My mother released my hand and then quickly returned with a glass of water. I slowly drank from the straw. Slowly because even the act of drinking made my side ache. But at least my mouth and throat were no longer sore.
After I’d finished nearly the entire glass, I laid my head against the pillow. My mother continued to hold my hand, as I tried to piece together my thoughts. I tried to move my fingers on my stiff, right arm, but even the simple act of twitching a thumb sent shards of pain through my wrist.
Okay, so right arm broken. No biggie. I pitch with my left.
Judging by the way it hurt to speak, cough, drink and even breathe, I realized at least one or more ribs were broken.
So with a broken arm and broken ribs, I’m definitely missing basketball practice, maybe even the first few games.
But what worried me most was the dull ache in my head. This pain wasn’t like a normal headache. It was much deeper. The nauseating throbbing left me dizzy and disoriented, but not disoriented enough I couldn’t feel the pain all over my body, like I’d been beaten to a pulp.
“My body hurts,” I groaned.
“You have broken bones,” my mother answered as she squeezed my hand tighter.
Though I ached, something about the warmth of my mother’s touch made me feel better.
I nodded before closing my eyes. The lights overhead seemed to worsen this overwhelming nausea.
“Basketball season?” I asked weakly, even though that thread of hope was quickly unraveling with each new throbbing pain on my body.
My mother heaved a heavy sigh. “I think that’s the least of your worries.”
Again, I asked myself the questions. An accident? How? Why?
I was struck with a flash of understanding. One memory. Me screaming as my brother ran a red light.
We were hit by another car. My brother!
“Is Mike okay?” I asked on a rush of air as my eyes flew open and I shot up. The movement sent shards of blinding pain through me.
Mother gently pushed me back against the pillow. “He’s got a broken collarbone but he’ll live if I don’t kill him first.”
“Football?” I asked, kno
wing my brother would be devastated if he, too, had to sit on the bench.
Mother shook her head. “Neither of you will be playing sports for a while.”
I closed my eyes again, but it did little to stop the hot tears streaming down my face. I was the only sophomore on the varsity squad. A starter, too. And now, my dreams had been crushed because of my brother’s stupid driving. Because we ran a red light and we were hit.
Another car!
“The other car,” I asked her as fear gripped my extremities like a vice. I’d never forgive myself if the other driver had been killed. After all, this whole accident was my fault. I should have seen it coming.
“You mean delivery truck,” she stated with emotion in her strained voice. “The driver suffered minor injuries. He actually gave you first aid while they waited for the paramedics.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. Slowly, as my aching side couldn’t withstand any sudden movements.
“It hurts to breathe and my head is pounding,” I rasped.
“You have broken ribs and a concussion.”
That’s serious. Why didn’t I see this coming?
Though I dreaded her answer, I had to know. “Am I losing my powers?”
“I don’t think so,” my mother answered before squeezing my hand. “But they are changing.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet. But Aunt Bertrice is here. She can help us.”
Aunt Bertrice? I remembered hearing about my mother’s aunt, her grandmother’s twin sister. Bertrice, my grandmother had said, was far more gifted than any of us. But what was Aunt Bertrice’s gift? I had no recollection of my grandmother telling me.
I knew my mother could see where her loved ones were by closing her eyes. I wondered if my mother had seen the accident. Then I realized she must have by the way she’d described it.
My grandmother could teleport objects. Grandma had once saved Mike’s life by slowing down his fall after he’d stumbled off a cliff. Mike had suffered a broken arm but he’d deserved it after disobeying our mom and going snowboarding at Hell’s Peak.
“There’s our miracle patient,” a booming voice echoed from across the room. “How are you feeling?”
I opened my eyes. An older man with a receding hairline and thick glasses was standing over me. He wore a white smock and clutched a clipboard to his chest. I assumed he was a doctor.
“My head really hurts,” I moaned.
“You have a serious concussion.” He turned to my mother with raised brows. “Or so I thought.”
He looked down at me and held one hand up. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Four,” I answered.
“Good.” He nodded and made a mark on his clipboard. “What’s your name and birthday?”
“Don’t you already have all that on my chart?” I asked, not even bothering to mask my annoyance. Didn’t this guy know I was in pain?
He smiled. “Just humor me.”
“AJ Dawson. April ninth,” I said curtly before adding, “Am I going to miss all of basketball season?”
The doctor laughed.
Grrrr. I wished he’d take his loud voice someplace else.
“Amazing. Simply amazing.” The doctor shook his head while patting my arm. “I’ve never seen a patient with this type of concussion heal so quickly with no sign of brain damage.”
“Look at her recent cat scans.” He pulled a sheet off of his clipboard and held it out to my mother. “Can you believe this? Remember all the swelling and fluid on her brain? Gone! And I didn’t think she’d ever wake up.”
Mother didn’t even look at the image. She simply smiled at me. “It’s a miracle.”
My mouth went dry again, and though it already hurt to breathe, now it felt like I was breathing through a straw. My chest hurt, my limbs went numb. I struggled to make sense of what the doctor was saying. Swelling on the brain? How badly had I been injured?
“If I wasn’t a man of science,” the doctor continued in his annoyingly exuberant voice, “I’d say your daughter had the help of a higher power.”
“Definitely,” Mother said with a twinkle in her eyes.
The doctor patted me one more time before stepping back. “I’ll send a nurse in to get some vitals.”
A higher power? I realized the doctor was probably right. But how? The women in my family were gifted with different powers, but I didn’t know anyone with the power to heal. Then the realization struck me. “Didn’t you say Aunt Bertrice is here? Where is she?”
Mother smoothed her hand across my cheek. “Grandma took her for a bite to eat, but she’s been by your bedside for the past two days.”
“How long have I been out?”
Mother’s eyes clouded over as her lower lip trembled. “Five days. You were in ICU for the first three. Like the doctor said, the concussion was serious.” Then her voice broke off as she stifled a sob. “They told us you might stay in a coma forever.”
Though my head throbbed, I seemed to be thinking clear enough to realize I was lucky to be alive. And here all I cared about was being able to play ball. I knew without a doubt why this aunt I’d never met had come to my bedside after the accident. Aunt Bertrice had the power to heal.
Chapter Three
Krysta
“Do you want to play with me?”
She couldn’t have been older than five. She was adorable. Pudgy hands and cheeks, big brown eyes, dark, curly hair. She actually looked a lot like me when I was little. I tried to imagine her with olive skin like mine, but this child’s skin was deathly pale with a slight blue tint. Her tattered dress dripped with what looked like water. She had a large gash on her temple.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I plastered on a smile. “I’d love to, but if I played with you, people would think I was crazy.”
I scanned the few people in the hospital waiting room. A middle-aged couple was gawking at me. An elderly woman had moved to the far side of the room while she glared at me from beneath her lashes. They probably thought I’d escaped from the mental ward. The only person in the room who knew I wasn’t crazy was Sophie, but my BFF was snoring on the bench next to me.
I sighed while rolling my eyes. “They probably already think I’m crazy.” To an outsider it must have looked like I was talking to myself.
“That’s okay.” The little girl shrugged. “There are other kids here.”
“I know.” I nodded, as again, I fought to hold back the tears. “I’ve seen them.”
Gawd, how I hated hospitals. Hated them. I’d never seen more dead people in all my life.
The little girl scrunched her brows. “How do you see us?”
“I’ve been curs—gifted with the power to see spirits.” I lifted my chin and tried my best to sound upbeat. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about ghosts, they don’t respond well when the living cry, scream or faint when they see them.
Her eyes brightened with an unnatural glow. “My brother is here, too. Do you want to meet him?
“Sure,” I said, but then I spied AJ’s mom, Mrs. Dawson, out of the corner of my eye.
She was walking briskly down the main hallway, one hand waving me over. Her eyes were puffy and red, just like they’d been for the past five days, but thankfully, this time she was smiling.
I leaned over and shook Sophie.
She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What is it?” Sophie mumbled. “Is AJ okay?”
Mrs. Dawson had turned and was walking away.
A jolt of excitement shot through my spine. “I think so,” I said. I turned toward the little girl. “I’ve got to go and see another friend. I’ll catch you later, okay?”
The little girl smiled and waved goodbye.
As I watched the child’s apparition disappear, I thought of AJ and how, for five long days, I’d been expecting AJ’s ghost to visit me in the waiting room. I was so ready to say goodbye to the puke green walls and uncomfortable chairs with suspicious stains.
>
I looked at Sophie who was still untangling herself from her blankets. She had turned the hospital waiting room into her own personal bedroom, preferring to sleep there rather than stay awake and listen to all of the depressing thoughts of the hospital patients and their families.
This was such a horrible place, the last place people like Sophie and I needed to be camping out.
Hot tears slipped over the rims of my eyelids and down my face. My nose dripped, and I had nothing to wipe it with but an old napkin I had to dig out of my purse. I flipped open my little cosmetic mirror and stole a quick glance at my reflection while Sophie put on her socks and shoes. My eyeliner was smeared. My skin was blotchy. My hair looked like an electrified mop. Before AJ’s accident, I would never have been caught dead in public without my makeup looking perfect.
But almost losing your best friend puts life into clearer perspective.
At the moment, the only thing I cared about was if AJ was going to live.
***
Sophie
AJ was waiting for us. She was propped up against some pillows. One arm was in a cast, and the other rested at her side attached to a long IV tube. The broken arm I was able to stomach, but I had a hard time, a really hard time, looking at my BFF’s head. All of her beautiful pale hair was gone. She had two rows of stitches on her bald and bruised scalp.
“Hey.” I sat beside AJ’s bed and gently placed my hand on hers. Her skin was cold, probably because they kept the temperature in the hospital near freezing. One more reason I hated hospitals.
“Hey,” AJ rasped as she offered a weak smile.
Words couldn’t describe the relief I felt seeing my best friend alive. Just yesterday, we hadn’t known if she was going to wake up from her coma. A shudder stole up my spine and chilled my flesh at the thought of AJ gone from me forever.
What would I have done if she hadn’t woken up, or if she’d been killed in that accident? How could I have gone on without my best friend?
Krysta sat beside me and placed her hand on AJ’s bent knee. “We’ve been waiting forever to see you. How do you feel?”
AJ’s smile faded. “Not so good.”
