by Tammy Turner
“I guess you’d know,” she countered.
In her book bag, Alexandra’s cell phone buzzed and vibrated.
“Strange,” she said aloud as she read the word HOME on the screen. “Mom should still be at work.”
“Hello?” she asked and paused for the caller to answer.
“Yes, Mom,” she replied into the phone casually.
Callahan heard a muffled but frantic voice through the receiver.
“Yes, Mom, there was a fire,” Alexandra explained.
“But I’m fine. Why are you calling from home?”
Her head nodded up and down as she listened.
“Don’t call a taxi. I’ll drive you to the airport. I’m leaving campus now,” she said and glanced at Callahan.
“What’s wrong?” Callahan asked with concern.
Shoving the phone back into the bottom of her book bag, her fingers hunted frantically for her car keys.
“There’s been an outbreak in Miami,” she told him.
“I’m sorry, Callahan. I don’t have time to give you the details,” she said, throwing the bag over her shoulder.
“An outbreak?” he asked, standing up.
She hurried toward the parking lot. “My mom works for the Centers for Disease Control,” she called behind her. “And there’s an emergency.” Raising her palm in the air, she winked at him. “I’ll show you later,” she called over her shoulder.
Don’t look back. He’s crazy. Don’t look back. She repeated that mantra in her head, hurrying forward. As she sprinted to the student parking lot, she saw that no dogs were presently lurking there. Finally she crawled safely into her waiting Jeep.
15
Goodbye
Alexandra listened to her mother’s thumbs tapping furiously on a Blackberry keypad. They were slowly lurching forward in Alexandra’s Jeep through the thick traffic around the bustling Atlanta airport.
Her mother glanced at Alexandra fidgeting behind the steering wheel. “Don’t bite your nails,” she lovingly reprimanded.
Rolling her eyes, Alexandra shoved her fingers toward her hair and started twisting the long, auburn strands. She stared ahead through the windshield, her thoughts racing.
“I don’t like leaving you like this,” her mother admitted and reached for her purse on the floorboard. “But we just don’t get much warning with these things.” She sighed and fumbled through her wallet, looking for cash. Putting her hands on a twenty-dollar bill, she shoved it toward her daughter. “There’s a little more in the drawer by the refrigerator. For pizza. Order whatever you want. I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to go to the ATM.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” Alexandra reminded her mother. Her fingernails tapped the steering wheel impatiently. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be fine. Just go do your job, and come home safe.”
The sun had sunk to the horizon in front of her, so Alexandra had to squint ahead. She took her foot off the brake to let the Jeep inch forward in the endless line of traffic wrapped around the airport.
“Please do not hit that man’s bumper, Alex,” her mother said, glancing up at the Porsche ahead of them in traffic. “We don’t have full coverage on this thing.”
“Speaking of that, you should really talk to your boss about a raise. Then I could get a new used car,” Alexandra proposed, holding her breath. “I mean, you’re one of the best investigators the CDC has, Mom. That’s why they have to send you to Miami to find out what’s giving all those housewives in Dade County the squirts.”
“The eloquence with which you describe my job is charming,” her mother conceded. “I just wish I knew how long the CDC is going to need me down there. It’s probably only going to be for a few days, but I don’t know for sure . . .” Her voice trailed off as a new-message alert chirped from the phone clutched in her palm. “Maybe you could ask Taylor to come stay with you for a couple of nights if you get lonely. Or if you get scared.”
“Taylor would probably like having a good excuse to escape from her stepmother for a little while,” Alexandra mentioned.
“Ask her, then. But no parties, and no boys are allowed. Understood?”
“Since when am I interested in either of those?”
“You’re seventeen, Alexandra. I know you think I’ve been a grown-up my entire life, but I still remember being seventeen.”
Rounding a curve, they saw that the terminal’s bustling passenger drop-off zone loomed ahead. Alexandra fought her way over into the far-right lane of traffic. Her mother threw the Blackberry into her handbag and studied her daughter’s pensive face. It was the first time she noticed Alexandra’s souvenirs from the attack in the parking lot.
“Alex!” she shrieked.
Startled by her mother’s cry, Alexandra slammed her foot against the brake pedal, and tires squealed behind them. Her seatbelt flung her back roughly against the seat.
A car horn blared twice sharply.
“Mom,” she objected. “Don’t do that while I’m driving.”
“What happened to your face?” asked her mother, her hand gently stroking the side of her daughter’s cheek where a purple bruise swelled between Alexandra’s temple and jawline.
Angrily shoving the gearshift into park, Alexandra turned to meet her eyes. Pulling her mother’s hand from her face, she clasped her mom’s palm into her own. Warmth tingled in her fingers as a hot flash seared up her arm and down into her heart. The sight of her mother’s face in the harsh setting sun dissolved before her eyes.
In front of her there stood a small child, a little girl no more than three years old, with long, auburn hair blowing wildly in the breeze. She hummed happily to herself on a sandy beach while low waves crashed quietly behind her against the shore.
That’s me! she realized.
Smiling and waving, the child did not see a brown horse racing toward her. The animal’s legs splashed in the rising surf as he sprinted along the shoreline. There was a saddle—but no rider—strapped to his strong back.
I’m my mother, Alexandra realized, watching the galloping horse.
Although she waved frantically, the child didn’t notice and kept filling her bucket with sand. Running swiftly, she nearly reached the girl’s side. But the girl was dropped to her knees, tossed to the ground by the barreling brown horse.
Beside her, the child lay limp and silent on the sand. She turned the girl over carefully. Cradling the tiny body in her arms, she rubbed blood and sand off the pink, dimpled cheeks. Rocking the child in her arms, she sobbed. Tears fell down her cheeks into the girl’s hair.
“What’s wrong?” her mother said in the passenger seat.
Alexandra heard her mother’s muffled voice. It sounded like her mother was shouting from behind a closed door. Alexandra loosened her grip on her mother’s hand. The swelling heat retreated back through her body as the images of the beach faded.
“No parking!” yelled a police officer who was directing the hectic traffic outside the airport terminal. He glared at them through the windshield. Blowing harshly through the whistle hanging around his neck, he motioned for Alexandra to either get her mother out of the car or keep moving.
She turned to her mother, saying hastily, “I fell at school, Mom. No big deal.”
Grabbing her pocketbook from the floorboard, her mother threw open the Jeep door. Reaching for her carry-on bag tucked behind the passenger seat, she looked at Alexandra pensively, her eyes full of panic. “Your propensity for accidents is, in fact, a very big deal to me.” The police officer’s whistle shrilly punctuated her statement. “I will call you as soon as I get there,” she said, slamming the passenger door behind her. “I love you,” she called over her shoulder and scurried toward the terminal’s massive sliding glass doors, her bag rolling bumpily behind her.
“Keep it moving,” shouted the cop. “You need to move it, or I’m writing you a ticket.” The driver in the car behind Alexandra blasted his horn.
Nodding at him, she yanked the gearshift hastily in
to drive. The roar of jet engines lifting into the evening sky surrounded her as she drove away from the terminal, toward the exit to the interstate. Her heart thumped in her chest, and her fingers still tingled as they tightly gripped the steering wheel. The images of the little girl playing on the beach, the images of herself through the eyes and soul of her mother, would perhaps never leave her mind.
Slowly gaining speed, the Jeep chugged along the interstate’s on-ramp. She hoped to merge into the traffic that shot past her creeping vehicle like bullets seeking a distant target. Easing with difficulty into the traffic, she cruised slowly toward home in the far-right lane. Abruptly, she heard a hiss and a pop from the under the hood.
“Not again,” she said aloud. Could I be out of gas so soon? She glanced at the fuel gauge, which rested comfortably at three-quarters of a tank. Rolling the window all the way down, she stuck her ear into the wind. A rattle rang out. That can’t be good, she thought, so she pulled over for a second into the emergency lane. Keeping the engine running, she put the Jeep into park.
Her fingers fumbled for the cell phone in her skirt pocket. She found Benjamin’s phone number in the call log and hit it. Please pick up.
“Hi, Alex,” Benjamin said, answering the call after only one ring. “What’s going on?” he asked. In the background, she could hear a laugh that she recognized.
“Is Taylor with you?” she inquired, irritated, her nails tapping on the steering wheel.
“Yep,” he said, lowering his voice. “I can’t get her to leave. You wanna try to talk to her?”
“No,” Alexandra whimpered. “My car, it’s . . . Well, listen” she said, holding her phone out the window toward the rattle.
“So what do you think?” she asked, pulling the phone back to her ear.
“Hmm,” Benjamin mused. “That’s not good. I think it’s possessed.”
Alexandra drew in an audible gasp.
“Just kidding!” he said. “Where are you?”
“The interstate,” Alexandra replied. “I had to drop my mom off at the airport. Now I’m driving home, but I haven’t been this way too many times.” She peered ahead, trying to read the next green-and-white sign.
“You may need to put some water in the radiator,” he surmised.
“Who are you talking to, Ben?” asked Taylor over his shoulder.
“Alexandra,” he said, placing his palm over the speaker.
Yanking the phone from his hand, Taylor shouted into the receiver. “What are you doing, Alex? You should come over here. Ben’s room is the size of your whole apartment, and he has a mini-fridge and a fifty-inch television.”
“Wow,” Alexandra said, feigning interest. So she’s in his room.
“Oh, and get this,” Taylor said breathlessly. “Benjamin promised to Skype Johnny Depp for me. Alex, I think I’m going to faint. Johnny freaking Depp!” Taylor screamed into the phone.
Sparing Alexandra from listening to any more of Taylor’s delirium, Benjamin pried the phone out of Taylor’s fingers. Taylor flopped down into a beanbag chair behind him, a pout spread across her pink, glossy lips.
“Are you still there?” Benjamin asked.
“Tell her hello for me,” mustered Alexandra, a pang of envy biting into her heart. “I’ll check the radiator. Thanks, ’bye,” she told him quickly. She shoved the cell phone into her skirt pocket.
“Thanks, Taylor,” said Benjamin with sarcasm, the dial tone still echoing in his ear. Slouching in the beanbag, Taylor stretched her cast and wiggled a pink, glittery toe at him.
“I’ll call her back in a few,” Taylor promised.
“She said that her Jeep was making a strange noise,” Benjamin told her and hit the power button on his laptop. Pulling a red rolling chair up to the glass-topped desk, he found the internet icon on the screen. Behind him, Taylor frowned.
“That stupid Jeep,” she cursed. “It’s going to get her into trouble one of these days.”
16
Lost
Driving north on the midtown connector from the airport, Alexandra marveled at the Atlanta skyline glowing brilliantly against the chalky evening sky. The gold dome of the state capitol building winked at her, while the red sun settled for the night behind the towering skyscrapers and luxury hotels.
“Olympic Drive, there you are!” she muttered aloud and flipped on her right turn signal. Gray clouds flocked like stained cotton around the tops of the city buildings that loomed ahead.
Easing off the interstate, Alexandra flipped on her headlights while the Jeep coasted down a dark ramp to a busy side street. A well-lit gas station beckoned on a corner ahead of her. She took her foot off the gas to slowly ease toward a traffic light.
Guiding the Jeep toward an empty gas pump, she slid her elbow over the door lock and smashed it downward. A couple of teenaged boys wearing baseball caps stood outside the gas station’s shop door, puffing on cigarettes. Neon beer signs smoldered in the windows.
Leering at Alexandra, the taller one slapped his friend’s chest and nodded his head toward her Jeep. She could hear his voice through her closed window as he walked closer.
“Are you lost, sweetheart? You need some directions? We can help you.” He motioned for Alexandra to open her window. Her fingers hovered over the keys still dangling in the ignition. The tall, skinny one speaking to her tapped on the window, while his shorter, acne-faced friend positioned himself squarely in front of her bumper and rested his hand on the hood of the car.
“We need a ride, sweetheart. Can you give us a ride?” the taller boy asked Alexandra, staring at her through the windshield. Her fingers gripped the keys in the ignition and turned them anxiously, but the engine stalled and sputtered. The boys refused to move out of her way. At that point, the shorter boy rested both arms on the hood and stared at her squarely through the windshield. He smirked while she fumbled with the keys. The engine hesitated and sputtered, then stalled again.
Her ears rang in a swell of panic and fury at the punks blocking the Jeep. With the windows closed, the temperature rose within the vehicle. The taller boy continued to tap on her window. As he did so, the ringing in her ears flatlined and spiked into a soaring roar. She heard a voice screaming urgently inside her head: They will hurt you. Hurt them. Hurt them before they hurt you.
“Who are you?” she screamed back to the voice. But that got her nothing but taunts from the boys. She remembered hearing that voice before, the time she got pushed into traffic at the intersection by the park.
Hurt them, the voice repeated, and this time she tried to oblige. One more turn of the keys in the ignition sparked the engine to life. She revved the gas pedal as a warning to the boys to move away from the car. Still refusing to move, the two boys scoffed at her through the windshield.
Go, advised the voice in her head. Go now.
When Alexandra revved the gas pedal once more, the smaller, acne-faced boy slid his hands back from the front of the hood and stood up straight, as if daring her to punch the gas. “You don’t know me very well, do you?” she shouted at him as her foot slammed against the gas pedal.
The Jeep launched forward. The kid dove out of the way, and her bumper brushed against his knee. Checking the rearview mirror, she saw the boys cursing and throwing empty cans at her bumper as she fled into the dark street, not even stopping to check for oncoming cars. Flooring the accelerator, she pushed the cranky old Jeep as fast as she could for a half a mile before an intersection forced her to slow down.
“Don’t turn red,” she told the traffic light dangling from a pole ahead of her. “Please don’t turn red,” she repeated, checking the rearview mirror.
The neon shimmer of the gas station faded in the distance behind her, and she could see no one else on the dimly lit street. Relieved that the boys had not tried to run after her, Alexandra turned her eyes back toward the road. Unexpectedly, a figure stepped from the sidewalk and directly into the path of her headlights.
“Oh no!” Alexandra screamed and crushed
her foot against the brake. Her body slammed against the seat belt.
The Jeep had screeched to a halt just inside the crosswalk. Above her head, the light glowed red. The beams of her headlights illuminated the man’s tall figure as he squinted into the bright light. Black clothing covered his body, and what Alexandra was certain was a cape draped down the length of his back to his knees.
“Oh my God,” she said aloud with a nervous laugh, “I almost ran over Dracula.” Her eyes met the figure’s bewildered gaze, and recognition sparked between them.
“Miss Peyton!” she heard him shout.
“Callahan?” she yelled at him in disbelief.
“What are you doing here?” they asked each other at the same time.
The Jeep shuddered as Alexandra shoved the gearshift into park and threw open her door to greet him. A pair of oncoming headlights in the opposite lane slowed as they passed and illuminated Callahan’s figure in their glow. “So you’re rocking a cape tonight, Callahan. That is a bold fashion statement for this neighborhood,” she said, gaping at her teacher.
With her hands steadied on her hips in awe, Alexandra watched in speechless admiration as Callahan lifted his arms like wings and twirled once on his feet, the cape cascading around his form. “It is magnificent, is it not? I had it specially made for me by . . .”
“No, let me guess,” she interrupted. “It was hand-stitched by a family of little hobbits in Transylvania, right?”
“Hmm, I detect a bit of sarcasm in your voice,” he said accusingly. “You’re being silly. Every one knows that Transylvanian hobbits have a two-year waiting list for their capes. In fact, it was sewn by a family of leprechauns living in a cave in Ireland,” he explained while he flapped his arms up and down. “Would you like to check the tag here?” he asked flipping the garment label out from under his collar. “Look. It says made in Ireland. Dry clean only. Now do you believe me?” he asked, smiling.
“Dry clean only. Is that so you don’t wash the magic fairy dust off of it?” Alexandra asked.
