Inevitable

by Tamara Hart Heiner

  His partner ducked inside, weaving around corners with his gun just like in a cop show. I took gulping breaths of air, trying to calm my heart.

  A moment later the man returned. “I didn’t find anyone. Why don’t you come in with me and we’ll all look again, together?”

  I nodded. Now that the mind-numbing panic had passed, I felt tears burning behind my eyes. I’d heard a door slam shut. Had he snuck out the back door?

  We combed through the house, checking every closet, pantry, under the beds, behind doors. My terror subsided bit by bit.

  “Ma’am?” The officer who had searched my house motioned me over to the laundry room. A cool breeze blew in from a cracked-open window. “I opened this door when I came through the first time, but just now it was shut again. Do you think the wind might have blown the door closed, and that’s what you heard?”

  As soon as he said it, I knew that’s what it was. I closed my eyes, feeling like the biggest idiot on earth. “Yeah. That could’ve been it.”

  He looked over my shoulder at his partner.

  “Premises are secure,” his partner confirmed.

  “We’re going to leave you now,” the first officer said to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Keep the doors locked and don’t hesitate to call if you hear anything else.”

  “Right,” I murmured. I escorted them to the front door and fastened all the locks. Then I sank down onto the tile floor, wrapping my arms around myself.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I sat on the cold tile floor until the fear washed out of me. Why me? Why did I have to See that girl's death and then meet the killer at a stupid high school game? Why did I have to See, anyway?

  When had I started Seeing? How old was I when my life spun away from me? I clearly remembered Seeing when I was thirteen. I was twelve when I saw Joshua’s death. I could remember as far back as when I was eleven. Before that, though—I couldn’t recall.

  The phone in my hand rang, startling me back to present day. Immediately my heart started a staccato pounding, and I held my breath when I picked it up. Aaron. I exhaled. Running a hand through my wildly wavy hair, I pulled my legs up and hugged my knees. “Hello?”

  “Jayne, thank goodness.” His British accent danced across the air waves, bringing a warm feeling of comfort and security to my chest. “You never called me last night. I’ve been calling all morning. You aren’t at school. Are you ill? I’ve been so concerned.”

  “Oh, Aaron, I’m sorry. It’s been... a bit of a rough morning.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  I could think of nothing I would like more than someone else here in the house with me. “Um.” I stood up and worked my way into the hall bathroom. I shot an alarmed glance at my reflection. “That’s all right. I’m fine, really. Just tired.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve got half an hour.”

  “No, really.” I kept my voice calm. “By the time you got here you, school will have started.”

  “Well... if you’re sure.”

  I wasn’t at all, but I couldn’t let him know that. “You made it to school, huh? No problems waking up?”

  “Not to say I wasn’t tired, but I had hoped to see someone.”

  Did I detect a note of teasing? “Oh? I’m sure Ms. Siegfried was happy to see you, too, but she probably didn’t jump out of bed over it.”

  “I’m sure she was quite happy to see me.”

  My thoughts jumped away from my current dilemma, remembering I had a life outside of my paranoia. “What about Dana? Is she there?”

  “Definitely not. I doubt she has recovered yet.”

  I nodded. She had been pretty drunk. “Yeah. True that.”

  My phone beeped at me, and I pulled it away from my ear. Uh-oh. Mom was calling. “Hey, Aaron, I have to go. So sorry.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll call you later.”

  Taking a deep breath, I clicked over. This was not going to be good. “Mom?”

  “Jayne, I just got a call from the police. Are you okay?”

  I exhaled, hoping to stay on her concerned side. “Yeah. Yeah, it was nothing. I heard a noise and got scared.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. Her tone changed immediately. “What were you doing home? When you said you were going to school late, did you really mean not at all?”

  I winced. Mom sounded really angry, an emotion I usually saw displayed toward my sister. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I was really tired, I couldn’t get myself moving—”

  “Is that because you’re hungover? Or was it only Dana who landed herself at the police station?”

  Whoa. Now how on earth did she know that?

  My silence was telling, and Mom said in a rather smug voice, “Dana’s father called me. Right before the police did, actually. He thought I should know what happened last night.”

  Thanks, Mr. Sparks. I decided now wasn’t the time for belligerence. “Mom, I didn’t have anything to drink. I swear. I just went to hang out and have some fun.”

  “Jayne! You could’ve been arrested! You could’ve been killed! What if you had been in the car with Dana?”

  “But I wasn’t, Mother. Calm down. No one was going to arrest me. I didn’t do anything wrong—”

  “You were in the wrong place, Jayne, and that’s enough. You’re not going in to work tonight. Just sit your tiny butt down and wait for me to get home. We’re going to discuss this.”

  I hung up on her, a sick feeling in my stomach all over again. Discussing things was never a good thing with my mother. And I hated it when she called my butt tiny. I didn’t care what she said. I was going in to work.

  No, I wasn’t. I exhaled and called JT’s. Tom didn’t handle it all that well, and I worried I wouldn’t have a job when I walked in again.

  I went up to my room and tried to sort through my feelings. Sometimes it helped if I wrote them down. I pulled out a notepad and jotted:

  Anger

  That was the first thing I felt. I added:

  Mom. Not understanding, bossing

  But beneath that anger was another current of emotion, strong enough to keep my leg bouncing up and down even when I was angry. I wrote:

  Fear

  No reason to expound upon that one.

  It wasn’t the last emotion, either. I felt one more that refused to be smothered even by my fear. In fact, the juxtaposition of the two other emotions made this one even more poignant.

  Excitement

  I paused, my pen hovering over the paper. It was more than excitement. It was giddiness, anticipation, hope.

  Writing helped. Feeling significantly calmer, I pulled out my green file folder. My people folder. Hesitantly, I opened it. My eyes scanned down the rows of names, visions, and deaths, for the occasions when I could verify the death had occurred.

  Aaron. Murdered by ex-wife.

  I paused, looking over my words. I never forgot the face behind the names, but I knew this one would haunt me for a long time.

  Harold. Dies in fire.

  That was the last one I’d updated. Memories of the heated house, of him trying to protect his little sister, brought a sob to my throat. I shook my head and started writing on the next line. “Hank. Dies in car accident, drunk driving.” I closed the file and put it back in the bottom of my desk drawer. I felt a little guilty for not being more upset about the guy’s death, but honestly, I was just happy that he hadn’t taken Dana with him.

  Downstairs the front door opened, and I put my hand on my desk, forcing myself to take several deep breaths. Nobody should be home right now. Was it the wind? Had I left the door unlocked?

  “Jayne?” My mom’s voice carried up the stairs, followed by her footsteps.

  I closed my eyes and admitted to myself that I was paranoid. “I’m here.” I stepped out of my room and waited on the landing. Mom’s eyes were clear but her nose was red, a sure sign that she had had an emotional episode. “You’re home early.”

  “I wanted to talk to you now.”

  �
�Mom, I—” I took another deep breath. I needed to stay calm if we were going to work this out like adults. “I know you’re mad. But grounding me from work? Come on.”

  “You can go back tomorrow. Today, however, you’re grounded from everything. We’ve always trusted you, Jayne. And this is how you repay us? Skipping school, going to a bonfire on the beach where alcohol is being served—”

  “But I didn’t drink any,” I interrupted.

  “How can I believe you?” The tears were welling up in her eyes again. “Your best friend was drinking. She was in a car accident. It could’ve been you, Jayne. You could’ve been killed!”

  Her tears made me feel even worse. “But Mom, I wasn’t. I didn’t get in the car with a drunk driver. I’m smarter than that.”

  “You shouldn’t have even been there, Jayne! Avoid the appearance of evil! Now go on back in your room. We’ll discuss this again when your father gets home.”

  I pushed myself away from the banister, rolling my eyes. She was being irrational. I’d have to try to reason with Dad.

  “Oh, and give me your phone. You’re grounded from friends.”

  “Fine.” I pulled my phone out from my pocket and slapped it into her hand. Then I stepped back into my room and closed the door tight.

  

  My father was much more understanding. While Mom cried and wailed about what could have happened, trying to get me the death sentence, Dad pointed out all the negative things that I didn’t do.

  “But in the end,” he finished, “Jayne, you shouldn’t have skipped school. And as soon as you saw there was alcohol at that party, you should’ve left.”

  I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest and staring at them. I was in high school, for goodness sake. Did they not know what went on in the sanctity of the school hallway during daylight hours? “Right. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

  “Good.”

  Mom opened her mouth, and I knew she was trying to think up a way to make Dad’s verdict more threatening.

  “However,” Dad continued, “since you did break the law and violate our trust, there’s going to be a punishment.”

  Oh boy. “Yes?” I arched an eyebrow. No point in mentioning that I didn’t actually break the law. I’d already been sentenced.

  Dad glanced at Mom. “I have a project for you.”

  “A project? For real, Dad?” No way. I felt my mouth drop open. When Beth and I were young, Dad always had a list of “projects” that he used as punishments for us. Something he wanted tackled but didn’t feel like tackling. Thus he would give the job to us. But I hadn’t been assigned a project since I was, like, thirteen!

  He lifted a hand. “Jayne, this is very serious. I understand that you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but you need to think very hard about what you do. Your first wrong choice was to skip school. That one bad decision led you down this path, and here’s your stop.”

  “Whatever.” And they say teenagers are dramatic. I put my head in my hands, seriously annoyed. “What’s the project?”

  “It’s at a house I’m selling,” Mom interrupted, looking triumphant. “The owner’s in the hospital and asked me to tidy up the spare bedrooms. This’ll be perfect for you.”

  “There,” my father said, nodding. “You can accept the project or be grounded to your room for the next two weeks with no car privileges.”

  Clean out some old house. That wasn’t so bad. How long could it take? Just a few evenings, maybe a Saturday. “I accept.”

  My dad extended his hand, and I shook it.

  “Congratulations, Jayne. The project is yours.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Beth! We're leaving now!” I slammed the front door, impatient to get to school. I was in a bad mood. I’d slept through my alarm?again—and there'd been no hot water in the shower. My breakfast was a cherry pop-tart, still wrapped in the crinkly foil. Today was not going to be good.

  My phone jangled in my bag, and I yanked it out. It was Aaron. I paused by the white patio bench, giving Beth a moment to catch up. “Hello?”

  “Jayne, hey, it’s Aaron.”

  What, did he think my cell phone didn’t have caller ID? “I know.”

  “How are you today? Will you be in school?”

  I shifted my bag from one hip to the other. “Planning on it.” The front door opened, and Beth slipped out, twirling lightly in a lime green sundress, the lemon scent drifting off her like a matching cologne.

  Wasn’t it Aaron’s fault I’d been at the bonfire? “I’ve got to go.” He started to say something, but I hung up. I was being irrational, petty, and spiteful, but I didn’t feel like changing my attitude just yet.

  Mom had taken me over to the house last night, which was just two blocks from ours. It was a disaster. It didn’t look like the old lady had thrown anything away in years. A hoarder, maybe? Last night I could hardly walk through the mess of boxes, some open, others closed and making tall leaning towers of potential catastrophe. It was almost midnight before I got home.

  Beth stood by my car, examining my windshield.

  “Beth, let’s go!” I said, slipping my sunglasses on. “I can’t be late today!”

  She turned around. “Someone left something for you, Jayne.”

  I ducked my head in one smooth motion before she met my eyes. My gaze landed on her hands, where she held up a single white rose.

  I quickened my pace down the driveway. “Thanks,” I said, taking the rose from her.

  A small piece of paper was taped around the stem. I pulled it off and opened it.

  “Missed you in school. Want to talk. Aaron”

  Just like that, all my anger wiped away. I was never very good at keeping grudges, anyway. The sunshine felt warmer, the day cheerier. I allowed a small smile to cross my face.

  “Is it from your boyfriend?” Beth asked, still standing there, her lemon smell drifting past me on the breeze.

  I took a deep breath, but not even her scent could dampen my sunshiny day. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said, but I couldn’t keep a smile from tickling my lips. I climbed in, placing the rose carefully on the dash.

  I dropped Beth off at the middle school, then parked quickly and hurried to my locker. I felt anxious and jittery. Was I on speaking terms with Dana? I waited for her to call me yesterday, but she never did. I considered myself lucky that I’d gotten my phone back from my mom this morning.

  I glanced around as I pulled out my books, tucking a strand of wavy hair behind my ear. No sign of her.

  No Aaron either. My heart rate slowed as disappointment replaced excitement. The tardy bell rang. Sighing, I spun the combination and pulled out my Spanish and calculus books.

  Dana wasn’t in second period. In fact, there was no sign of her or Aaron all morning, and I was starting to think I’d imagined the rose. Were they both angry with me?

  I noticed Aaron right when I walked into English class. He sat on the edge of a desk, leaning in toward Poppy and laughing. I froze, feeling like someone had just punched me in the gut. I tried to sit down quietly in the back, but dropped my book with a thud. The giggling stopped, and I knew they were watching me. My heart pounded as I retrieved it. Had something changed?

  Mrs. Siegfried came in and launched into a discussion about our upcoming exam. Her words barely registered. I couldn’t take my mind off Aaron. I heard Poppy fold up a piece of paper and slide it across the desk toward him. I resisted with all my might turning toward them. Then the paper went back to her and she giggled loudly.

  Mrs. Siegfried paused and looked at Poppy. “Did you have an example to share with the class?”

  “Hm?” Poppy widened her eyes. “Oh, no. Sorry.” The class snickered, and I felt a tiny bit better.

  I wasn’t given much time to relish in Poppy’s discomfort before Mrs. Siegfried’s eyes turned to me. “Jayne? How about you? An example?”

  My cheeks grew hot. Of course, when I had no idea what she was ta
lking about. I tried to bluff my way out of it. “I’m not sure if you want me to give a literal example or a figurative one.”

  “How about just give one from our reading assignment? Such as, ‘although Othello showed great strengths as a military strategist, his lack of confidence in his personal life and friends brought about the destruction of the relationships he held dearest.’”

  Sounded like a thesis. Taking a guess that we were discussing theses in general and Othello in particular, I said, “Othello was able to be deceived because he slowly let himself fall prey to Iago’s villainy, allowing Iago to enter into a more intimate position than even his wife.”

  “All right, let’s talk about this example.” Mrs. Siegfried turned to the white board and began writing.

  I heaved a sigh of relief. Certainly not the best thesis I’d ever come up with, but it got the attention off of me.

  My thoughts turned back to Aaron. I swallowed hard, surprised to feel a lump in my throat. My eyes stung and I pressed my palm against my forehead. Our relationship had barely gotten started! It couldn’t end yet!

  What was I supposed to do after class? Linger by my desk in the hopes that he stopped to talk to me? Flee as quickly as I could so he wouldn’t see how he affected me? March up to him and fling his white rose at Poppy?

  I cringed at the thought. I could just imagine Poppy’s tinkling laugh. Besides, I’d left the rose in the car.

  The bell rang and I jerked in my chair, my undecided plans taking flight. I grabbed my bag, shoved my book under an arm, and made a beeline for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  An arm blocked my exit. I blinked, wondering how on earth Aaron had made it out before me. “Not even going to say hi?” He cocked an eyebrow, that cute boyish grin crossing his chiseled features.

  “Well.” I wanted to sound blustery and indignant, but the word came out mild. I gestured behind me. “You looked occupied.”

  He dropped his arm and stepped from the room, his eyes on me. “Don’t tell me I’m not allowed to talk to other girls?” He sounded amused.

  I blushed and followed him, feeling beyond flustered. “You can do what you want. I don’t own you.” I quickened my pace and pushed past him.