Caught Dead

by Patricia Mason

I loved so many things about Liam. But most of all I loved that he wouldn't die until he was a very old age. His death would take place in his own bed where he was surrounded by his children and grandchildren. As a banshee of the O'Neil clan— as my grandmother had been and her grandmother before her—I knew these things. A vision of Liam's fate had hit me with the force of a semi-truck the first time I'd touched him when we were both just ten. His destiny hadn't changed in the seven years since then or I would have known the next time we came into contact. I'd have seen his new death.

  Liam put a hand to my chin and brought my face up so our eyes met. "Let's go across the river to the reserve tonight."

  The wildlife reserve was the local lovers' lane. In the last few weeks, Liam had been subtly pressing to take our relationship to the next stage: a full-fledged hook up. Sex, or even heavy petting, scared me. But I also didn't want to lose Liam. So far he'd been patient about me keeping my virginity, although he did joke that at seventeen I must be the oldest one in the school. How long could he stay faithful to me if I didn't go all the way?

  Even though I was unsure of how I would answer, and put him off yet again, I opened my mouth to speak.

  "Ellsworth," Coach Dixon barked out to Liam, interrupting us from a few feet away. A scowl furrowed his brow. "You planning to practice today? Or shall I consider you off the team?"

  "Practice, Coach." Liam picked up his helmet and tossed me one last smile before he sprinted off toward the field.

  The coach turned his red-faced glare on me as he mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Tara Jones. Shouldn't you be practicing with the other cheerleaders in the gym?"

  A voice spoke beside me: Keagan.

  "Yeah. Don't you have anything better to do than hang with my boring brother? Like, maybe, watch the Astroturf grow?"

  "I'm just going, Coach." I didn't respond to Keagan with even a glance. No need. His teasing smirk radiated from him.

  Unlike his fraternal twin, Keagan didn't make me feel safe. He was going to die young in a motorcycle accident with his head cracked open and his body horribly mangled under the wheels of a car. The vision hadn't told me exactly when, but Keagan had looked about the same age as he was now. How could I warn him? He wouldn't believe me. Nobody believed me about my visions. Nobody but Gran. Even my parents hadn't believed me. If only they had.

  "Come on. Not going to say anything to defend Liam?" he drawled. "That's new. You're usually such a cheerleader." His fingers flicked at the skirt of my uniform, brushing the top of my thigh. That glancing touch sent an involuntary shiver through me and I jumped away from him.

  How could twins be this different? Where Liam was a sunny day, Keagan was a stormy one. Liam had shoulder-length blond hair where Keagan had short brown. Liam was athletic but lanky and Keagan had the physique of a wrestler. Where Liam's eyes were sky blue with a mischievous glint, Keagan's were storm cloud gray with an angry edge. Liam was boy-next-door cute but Keagan was dangerously hot sexy. Even as that comparison occurred, a pang of guilt pinched at me.

  "Come on, Goody," Keagan said. "Where's your sense of humor?"

  "Don't call me that nickname," I grumbled. "I'm not a goody two-shoes."

  He chuckled, a low baritone rumble.

  "What are you doing here?" I demanded, angrily. Keagan didn't attend our private high school, Richard Johnson Academy or Double Dick as the students had dubbed it. When Keagan had failed a math test, his father went crazy, ranting how he wasn't going to waste good money on tuition.

  "Either you're stupid or lazy," Mr. Ellsworth had screamed. "And I'm not going to pay for either."

  Unfortunately, I'd been at the Ellsworth house for dinner and heard the whole horrible fight. I would never forget the shame that twisted Keagan's face when he realized I was there. Keagan's response had been to rush out and total the family car. After that, he'd been relegated to the public school: Broughton High.

  "I'm here scouting the talent," Keagan answered me. "The big game is this Friday night. Johnson Flyers vs. Broughton Hawks."

  "You're playing?" Now I did turn to him in surprise. The rivalry between our two schools was fierce. Almost as fierce as the one between Keagan and Liam.

  "I'm the Hawks' new middle linebacker. Broughton's coach was thrilled when I enrolled. He even tracked me down to recruit me to the team." His sneering lip quirked even higher. "It seems someone appreciates my talents."

  "Does Liam know?"

  "He will soon." His tone dripped with such animosity it frightened me. I'd always thought Keagan's Mom and Dad were wrong to treat him like demon spawn and Liam like an angelic gift, but that wasn't Liam's fault.

  "Are you really so jealous of your brother that you actually hate him?" I asked. "Sometimes you can be such a...a...a...toad."

  "Ribbit"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You say I act like I'm a toad, so I thought I'd sound like one." His eyes bored into mine. "Maybe if you'd kiss me, I'd turn into a handsome prince." Puckering his lips, Keagan closed his eyes before waiting expectantly.

  Thank God for those closed eyes. Otherwise he might have seen the desire I knew must be showing on my face. I cut off the feeling with a ruthless swing of my conscience club. If I had to beat those stupid impulses of attraction to Keagan into submission, I'd do it. Getting swept into his black hole was all kinds of wrong. And why was I so attracted anyway? Keagan was mean to me and the intensity of his meanness had only mounted over the last three years. Ever since I began dating Liam, in fact.

  "Stop that," I said, punching his shoulder with the flat of my palm. "Everyone knows it's frogs that turn into princes, not toads."

  "Oh, right. But you know you want to break out of the good girl mode and go wild. Why not with me? Just one kiss. How 'bout it?"

  "You've got every pretty girl in the area panting after you. Why don't you leave me alone?"

  "All those girls don't matter." Keagan put a hand on my arm and the tingles radiated outward from his touch like exploding fireworks. "I'm just using them to make you jealous. You're the one I really want." The comment was nice but his quirky smirk and arched brow taunted me.

  "Sure," I said, slapping his hand away.

  "Okay, you caught me. I'm having trouble traveling to my usual circle of girls since Dad cut off my access to the family car keys. Of course, he gave Liam his very own pick-up." A derisive curl formed on his lips. "I just saw an ad for a motorcycle in the paper. I've probably got enough money saved to buy—"

  "No," I cut in. "Not a good idea. Those things are dangerous."

  "You're worried about me? How sweet," he said in a tone filled with sarcasm. "But I know how to ride. I've been practicing on Dad's."

  "I mean it. Promise me. No motorcycles. Not even your Dad's."

  He threw up his hands in a mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I promise. I really wanted a car, anyway." Keagan leaned in and ran the tip of his index finger along my jaw. He whispered in my ear, "More room to maneuver in the backseat of a car."

  "Hey." Liam shouted from the field. He removed his helmet and threw it to the ground as he barreled towards us. "Get your hands off her, dude."

  When Liam reached us, he grabbed Keagan by the shoulders and spun him away from me. Liam rammed his brother with arms outstretched and Keagan staggered back a step, but didn't go down.

  "You'll have to do better than that on the field Friday night, little brother." Keagan sneered.

  Liam's face contorted with rage and he swung at Keagan.

  "No," I screamed.

  Keagan leaped to the right and away with a laugh. Liam's punch failed to land.

  "Weak, bro. You are so whipped you're almost cream," Keagan said.

  This only enraged Liam further and he came after Keagan, tackling him. The two rolled on the dirt punching at each other. The players on the field stopped their practice and were focused on the fight, with hoots, whistles, and shouted encouragements.

  "Beat his ass, Liam," Billy Broaderick called.
>
  "Keagan. Liam," I yelled. "Stop it. Both of you."

  Coach Dixon finally arrived and pulled Liam off Keagan, with my boyfriend continuing to strain against the coach's hold so he could get back to pummeling his brother.

  "Knock it off or I'll make sure you're suspended," the coach growled.

  Liam stopped straining and the coach released him.

  He stood puffing and glowering at his brother. "You're lucky the coach saved you, you sorry douchebag."

  When I walked to Liam and hooked my arm through his, Keagan took in my position and nodded as if he knew I'd just signaled my allegiance. Guilt gnawed at me and I dropped Liam's arm. Why did I feel guilty? I hadn't hurt Keagan with the gesture had I?

  Keagan rose before brushing himself off and turned to the coach. "For your information, you don't have the power to get me suspended or anything else anymore."

  "I was sorry to see you leave the Academy, son," the coach said.

  An angry fire lit Keagan's face. "I'm not your son and I don't need your pity. Save your sorry for Friday. You'll need it when the Hawks beat your cream puffs into the fake ground of this shitty place."

  Liam lunged for Keagan.

  This time there'd be blood from both brothers.

  Grabbing Liam's arm, I fought to hold him back. But then my eyesight faded, the sound of the surrounding voices muffled, and a vision began. Like a nail shooting through my skull from a pneumatic gun, the images moved through my brain in fast-motion and then slowed.

  A football stadium loomed all around me, but it was night and crowds packed the bleachers. Over the loudspeaker, the announcer talked about this being the best game in the history of the two teams and said something about the battle of the brothers. I realized a game was in progress. Glancing to the right I saw the scoreboard lit with visitors: 20, home: 14. The clock was stopped with one minute, twenty seconds left to play in the fourth quarter. Liam stood on the field with number 33 on his uniform. Keagan— at the position of linebacker—fidgeted with impatience in the defensive line. The quarterback called a play and handed off to Liam. He didn't get more than a few steps before Keagan hammered him and the two went down.

  Pain, breath-stealing in its intensity, jolted through me as if I'd been struck.

  Keagan bounced back up, leaping to his feet. Liam stayed down, lying still with his head at an odd angle. Keagan drew off his helmet. A gloating smile quickly fell from his lips and those taunting eyes became anguished. Coach Dixon and others rushed from the sidelines but it was hopeless. I knew what had happened. The excruciating ache in my neck told me that Liam's had been broken.

  Dead. Liam. Dead.

  "Nooooooooooooo," I screamed, keening. Falling to my knees, with my head buried in my hands, I wept.

  Chapter Two

  Why was everyone staring at me?

  "Tara." Keagan fell to his knees beside me and put his arm around my shoulder. "What is it?"

  Through bleary eyes I saw his face, brows furrowed, his mouth compressed in a frown of concern.

  "Get your hands off her," Liam yelled. He grabbed Keagan's arm and jerked him back, practically tossing his bigger brother to the ground. Then Liam turned to me as Keagan stood.

  "Tara—" Liam began only to be interrupted.

  "Are you all right?" The coach crouched in front of me. He started to place a hand on my chin, probably with the intention of examining me, but I didn't want to take the chance of another vision...this time of his death.

  "Don't," I cried, reeling back to evade his touch.

  "Okay," he said, leaning away. "But where's the pain? Is it your head?"

  Keagan yelled at the field. "Somebody get the school nurse and call an ambulance."

  "She doesn't need a nurse or an ambulance," Liam said, shoving his brother hard with a hand to the chest.

  "Just because I suggested it?" Keagan shook his head. "You really are pathetic, man."

  "He's right. I'm fine." I struggled to rise to my feet without touching anyone. My breath chugged in and out. The air felt like gravel in my lungs. "There was a...a bee. It didn't sting me. I'm sorry I overreacted but I'm really allergic."

  "I didn't see a bee." Keagan scowled, eyeing me up and down.

  "If she said there was a bee, there was a bee! A'ight?" Liam shouted getting up into his face.

  "Now boys," the coach said. "Calm it down or I'm going to have to call campus security."

  "Call 'em," Liam said. "They'll be too late to save this jerk."

  Keagan didn't back away. He just stared Liam directly in the eyes. When he spoke the words came out as a growl. "You wanna fight bro? Let's go."

  "Aghhhhhhhhhhh," I screamed. "This arguing is driving me crazy. I can't take it."

  The three of them—Liam, Keagan and the coach—all turned to me in concert. The expressions on their faces couldn't have registered more shock if I'd sprouted horns. Come to think of it, my outburst was sort of like a fluffy bunny turning into a charging bull.

  "Just go ahead and kill each other. I can't stop you." My voice broke on the last word with the strain of the volume and the emotion.

  As they all continued to gawp at me, I whirled and ran without really knowing in what direction. The only requirement was to get away.

  * * * * *

  "It was horrible," I said. "Liam lying there with his neck broken and then the two of them fighting...I knew where it would end. With Liam dead."

  As I spoke, head resting on our kitchen table, my voice came out sadly muffled. But my grandmother heard. She reached over from her seat opposite me and placed a hand on my shoulder. The combination of patting and massaging didn't have its usual comforting effect.

  "Oh honey. I'm sorry."

  Sometimes I used to rail to my Gran about why a banshee could never see anything but death. I couldn't foretell babies or marriages or...well anything happy. Just another person's end. But bitching about my talent wouldn't change anything.

  "Gran, what am I going to do?" I asked, lifting my head.

  "I know what you're feeling, Tara. Believe me, I know," Gran said. "But there isn't anything you can do. It's fate."

  My head shook so hard the hair fell into my face. "No. I saw Liam's death before. For seven years he's been fated to die of old age. Now, suddenly, he's gonna die on Friday night?"

  "Sometimes that happens. There's a fork in the road." Gran smiled sadly. "He's passed over the fork and his destiny's changed."

  My phone pinged, signaling a text. Pulling it out of the purse I'd dropped on the floor at my feet, I examined the face and found a message from Liam: Cum2 dinA @ my hous 2nite. I promiS 2b gud.

  Like lightning, another text followed. This one was from Keagan: Won't promiS 2bgud but promiS no fyts w/bro or my MFF.

  Keagan's text almost made me crack a smile. I knew the MFF was a less than polite reference to his father. For Keagan that pledge was huge.

  Keagan and Liam. The two brothers. Each with a tragic future.

  Placing the phone on the table, I glanced up at Gran. "If Liam's fate could change, then it can change back. I can do something to change it back."

  "What?" Gran asked.

  "I don't know," I said. "But I can't be responsible again for someone I care about dying. I just can't."

  "What do you mean again? Who do you think you're responsible for?" Confusion knit Gran's brow.

  Silence blanketed the room for long seconds until I could force out a sound. "My parents," I whispered.

  "Oh sweetheart." Gran rose from her chair and then pulled me up and into a tight hug.

  Blinking back the tears, I allowed the words to spill out. "I saw what would happen. But I didn't stop them."

  "You weren't responsible for your parents. There was nothing you could do about that accident."

  "I tried. I told them, but they didn't believe me."

  "That was more my fault than yours." Gran patted my back. "I should have told your mother about the family gift. But I thought, since it would skip over her, she
didn't have to be troubled about it."

  "I coulda tried harder to convince them," I said, leaning into her soft neck. The scent of her lavender soap enveloped me just as her arms did.

  "Even if you had convinced them, it wouldn't have changed anything. If they'd believed you, what would they have done? Never drive a car again? Don't you think I've tried to change fate in my seventy-two years? No, honey," she insisted with a little shake. "And what if you did change Liam's future? How would that change other events? Pull on one string and the whole fabric unravels, maybe? Perhaps someone else dies?"

  What did I care about that amorphous someone else? I needed to save my boyfriend. "There has to be some way."

  "Your parents' fate was not in your hands and neither is Liam's."

  Not in my hands? Maybe not right now, but that didn't mean I couldn't try to grab onto Liam's destiny and tug like hell. But if I tried and I failed, his death really would be my fault.

  Did I have the courage to take that chance?

  * * * * *

  Going to the Ellsworth house that night was the first step in my campaign. But I soon found that sitting through the uncomfortable tension between the brothers and their parents was an almost insurmountable challenge. How successful would I be in changing fate when I couldn't even manage to change the heavy mood of dinner conversation?

  Keagan sat on one side of the table opposite Liam and me. He scowled down at his plate as he pushed the mashed potatoes around, trying to form a perfect circle with the gloppy substance. With one turn of the fork, black ink peeked out from beneath the cuff of his shirt.

  Omigod, he'd gotten a tattoo circling his forearm a few inches above his wrist. I glanced around the table, hoping that none of the others had seen it.

  Their father loomed at one end of the table, stuffing his face. In between bites he sipped a scotch. He wasn't drunk, just buzzed. Mrs. Ellsworth hovered about, mostly occupying the space between her seat and the kitchen. And it wasn't only her legs getting a workout. Whenever Mr. Ellsworth would make some nasty comment, Mrs. Ellsworth would treat it like a turd in a cat box. She'd giggle nervously and let loose a barrage of inane chatter as if she were trying to bury his comment so deep beneath her own words that we wouldn't realize how stinky his words were. The only blessing was that so far most of his jabs had been criticisms of politicians and work colleagues. Only a few had been directed at the family.