by K. C. Neal
I wrote back:
Asked my dad about Sykes, but he didn’t seem to know anything. I think I’ll be ok. talk 2 u tomorrow?
His reply a few seconds later:
I’ll come to the basement tomorrow nite. C u then. Sweet dreams.
Ugh, sweet dreams? Was he trying to be funny?
I woke up once in the night when I thought I heard something outside my bedroom window, but if I had any dreams, I didn’t remember them.
* * *
Mason knocked on the basement door the next night just as I finished mixing a batch of cookie dough. I let him in and he followed me over to the basement kitchen.
“Hey, I’m making cookies for Aunt Dorothy. You know, with the stuff in them,” I said, even though there was no one else around to hear.
He sank onto the sofa. “I really hope it works.” He stared at a spot on the floor.
I understood his grave mood. If Dorothy couldn’t help us, what would we do?
“What do you think would happen if I ate one of them?” he asked as I slid the cookie sheet in the oven.
“Your guess is as good as mine. You want to try it?” I was going to feed them to my elderly great-aunt, so I didn’t think they were poisonous or anything.
“I’m curious, but I probably shouldn’t,” he said. “We don’t know enough about what could happen. In your dreams, your grandmother never told you to give me any of those, did she?” He gestured toward the pyxis.
I shook my head. “Not that I remember.”
We flipped through channels while the cookies baked. I had a nervous urge to talk about my grandmother’s letter some more. Try to formulate plans or something. But there really wasn’t anything more we could do.
Mason stayed until the cookies were done. It was unspoken between us, but we both knew he was hanging out with me partly to provide some sort of … reassurance, maybe? It was odd, but I could tell he felt a need to see me, hang out, just be there. I wanted him there, too, and it had nothing to do with what happened at Solstice Fest before he left. It probably was more a sense of being linked together in something scary that we didn’t understand. I realized I didn’t feel the same way about Angeline, even though she was linked to all of this, too. Yet another thing I couldn’t begin to explain.
I carefully folded half a dozen cookies into a piece of waxed paper, wrapped the package in foil, and set it on top of my homework in my bag, where it wouldn’t get crushed.
All our hopes rested on Aunt Dorothy.
|| 19 ||
I FOUND BRADLEY IN the student parking lot after school the next day, and we headed to Danton. My appointment was at three forty-five, so we’d have to book it to get there on time. But the weather was fair, and there wouldn’t be any real traffic on the highway this time of day.
He cranked some college band I didn’t recognize, and I thought about how to bring up the topic of visiting Aunt Dorothy. The cookies were tucked into a side pocket of my bag. I’d checked about twenty times during the day to make sure they were still there.
After a couple of miles, I hollered over the music asking Brad if I could turn it down for a minute.
“What’s up?” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I was really hoping that after the test, we could stop by and see Aunt Dorothy,” I said. “I just feel so guilty that I haven’t seen her in, like, forever. I mean, even if she’s not all there, it’s still sad that nobody visits her, don’t you think? I don’t want to stay long, just a few minutes.”
I knew I was laying it on a little thick. Bradley glanced at me with his eyes narrowed. I must have looked sincere enough, though, because he answered, “Okay, as long as we’re in Danton, I guess we could stop by. I mean, I love Aunt Dot and everything, but last time, she didn’t even know who we were. It’s not that I don’t want to see her, but it’s like it’s not even her. Plus, being in there with all those senile old people is depressing, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I agreed. “But it seems like the right thing to do. We can make it quick.”
When we arrived at the outskirts of Danton, I was reminded that living in Tapestry really wasn’t so bad. Danton had all those ugly strip malls and gas stations. With the sheer number of Starbucks in the city, not to mention all the other coffee shop chains, I wondered if my dad’s little café could survive there. And nature basically disappeared in a sea of pavement. I couldn’t imagine living in the middle of that. It smelled funny, too, like a mild mix of car exhaust and trash. In Tapestry, I was spoiled by the clean mountain air.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my bag. Ang.
Good luck on the test! I know you’ll pass! Call me l8r & tell me how it went.
I made it to my appointment on time and flew through the written exam in about fifteen minutes. I only missed one question. Then it was on to the driving test. My tester was a mellow guy a little younger than my parents. I did all the maneuvers, and since he didn’t ask me to repeat anything, I knew I’d passed.
I combed my fingers through my hair, put on some lip gloss, and smiled for my mug shot. We were out of there five minutes later, my new license safe in my bag. It was kind of crazy, but I was looking forward to the visit to the retirement home more than I’d been anticipating getting my driver’s license.
We parked in one of the visitor spaces and found the reception desk. The place smelled like a mix of bleach, old-people ointment, and pee. I felt a sharp pang of sadness for Aunt Dorothy. Even if she didn’t know who or where she was, this was an awful way to live out her last days. As much as I missed Grandma Doris, I was glad she hadn’t ended up here.
The facility smelled icky, but it was clean enough. They had tried to spruce the place up with artwork and plants, but even that was sort of depressing. An orderly led us to the Rec Room, although I really couldn’t see any recreation going on in it. Most of the residents sat in wheelchairs, the majority of them just staring off into space. A few were circled around the TV, and one woman sat by the window working on some needlepoint.
I spotted Aunt Dorothy sitting in a wheelchair parked at one of the round tables. Her back curved over in a hunch and her face and arms looked much thinner than I remembered. Her hair was pulled back into a disheveled bun at the base of her neck. There was a puzzle in front of her, but she stared vacantly at the wall.
She reminded me so much of Grandma Doris, and it hit me: the day my grandmother had died, I’d really lost both of them. I gulped back the lump growing in my throat, squared my shoulders, and tried to smile. Bradley and I sat in two of the chairs arranged around her table.
“Hi, Aunt Dorothy,” I said, laying my hand on her arm. “It’s me, Corinne. And Bradley.”
Her eyes moved to my face, but she didn’t really react. I bit my lip and tried not to cry. It was like her essence was gone, and only the shell of her body remained. No matter how many times I reminded myself that she wouldn’t recognize me, it still hurt every time.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” I continued, pretending that she knew who I was. “Bradley drove me into town so I could get my driver’s license.”
I pulled my newly-minted license out of my bag, laid it on the table, and pushed it toward her.
“See? I passed.” I tried to smile.
“Sorry, Corinne,” Bradley mumbled, and his chair scraped the floor with an unpleasant metallic screech as he stood up. “I’m going to wait by the desk.”
I felt a moment of guilt for making him come in here with me. It might have been a little easier if Aunt Dorothy didn’t look like such a ghost of herself, and of my grandmother, for that matter. I decided I might as well get it over with. I glanced over my shoulder to verify no one was near enough to overhear, and leaned closer to Aunt Dorothy.
“Aunt Dorothy, I really need your help,” I said. “Grandma Doris left me that box, the pyxis, with the bottles in it. Do you know anything about the pyxis?”
I waited for a few seconds, but there
was no change in her face or eyes.
“What about a person who is a shield, or a guardian? Or Harriet Jensen? Or things I need to watch for in my dreams?”
She wasn’t reacting at all. It was time to try a different tactic. I pulled out the cookies.
“I made these for you, Aunt Dorothy.” I peeled back the foil. “It’s Grandma Doris’s sugar cookie recipe.”
My voice caught a little on my grandmother’s name. But I thought I saw a flicker of interest in Dorothy’s eyes. She watched my hands as I opened the foil and drew out a cookie. I held it out to her, as if she was a little kid, and she raised her hand. I jumped as a different hand swooped in and snatched the cookie before Aunt Dorothy could take it.
|| 20 ||
“OH NO, SORRY, HONEY, I can’t let you give her that.” I looked up; the nurse who had been sitting at one of the tables reading a thick paperback stood over me. “Dorothy is diabetic, and we’ve got her on a strict diet.”
Damn it! How could I have forgotten that Aunt Dorothy had diabetes? I wanted to smack myself.
“Not even just a bite?” I said. “She seemed kind of excited about it.”
Maybe “excited” was overstating it, but I was desperate.
The nurse shook her head. I hoped she’d move away and leave us alone, and then maybe I could slip Dorothy a little piece, but she didn’t budge.
“Sorry about that, Aunt Dorothy,” I said. “I’ll come back to see you again soon.”
I stood and gently hugged her stooped shoulders. It was all I could do not to bawl as I walked down the hall toward the reception desk. Between seeing her in that condition in this depressing place and completely failing in my mission, I wasn’t sure I could hold it together.
Bradley couldn’t get away from the retirement home fast enough. I slid into his car, and, letting my hair swing forward to cover my face, I slouched in the seat. Frustration, fear, and sadness washed over me. I let the tears trail untouched down my cheeks.
I hid in my room for the rest of the evening. I didn’t even go upstairs for the quiche my dad brought home from the café. I texted Ang to let her know I’d passed the driving test, and Mason to tell him I’d utterly botched things with Aunt Dorothy. He said he’d come by later, and around eight-thirty, I heard a soft tap on my bedroom window.
I let him in through the basement door and led him back to my room, where I flopped across my bed in despair.
“I’m such a dumbass!” I wailed, covering my face with my hands. “Of course Aunt Dorothy has diabetes. She’s had it since before I was born!”
Mason, slouched in the purple chair, smiled sympathetically. “A little oversight, maybe. But you can go back with something else she can eat.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Maybe I could sneak a couple of drops into a cup of water or something. I perked up a little. “You’re right. I’ll try again. My biggest problem is getting back to Danton. Even though I have my license now, I seriously doubt my parents will go for me taking the car by myself.”
“We’ll figure out something,” Mason said. “Soon.”
I, too, felt a growing sense of urgency. The part about the dreams and “impending perils” really worried me. It seemed obvious to me that the dreams Mason and I were having meant something bad was on the horizon. And we were completely unprepared to deal with it.
I looked at my left hand and realized I’d chewed off two nails. The last time I chewed my nails this much was during Bradley’s illness. I sat up and tucked my hands under my thighs.
“Have you had any more dreams lately?” I asked.
“None that I can remember.” Mason didn’t bother asking me if I was having any. “It’s kind of a relief. But I also wonder if maybe it’s not a good thing.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “With the dreams, at least I felt like I was getting some kind of … information. I’m not sure the silence makes me feel better.”
“Speaking of information, I got into that website you found.”
“Oh my God, why didn’t you say anything?” I sat up straight. I had a feeling there was something there that could help us.
Mason chuckled. “Sorry. There’s not a whole lot to say. I didn’t get very far, but I saved the source and took a screenshot so I can play around with it later.”
“What did you see?” I asked eagerly.
“It was strange.” Mason leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees and frowned at the floor. “It looked like a login page where you’d enter usernames and passwords, but nothing was actually functional. I couldn’t type anything into it.”
“Huh. Could you send me the screenshot?”
“Yeah, I’ll email it when I get home.”
“The other weird thing is that the website seems to have a dynamic URL.”
“A whaty-what?”
“Every time I went to the website, it had a different address.”
I gave him an exaggerated blank stare.
Mason smiled. “The w-w-w-dot part. It’s different every time. And I can’t access previous ones. It’s like they expire.”
“So how did you find it? Can we even get back to it?”
“It took me a while to find it after you told me about it. I had to repeat some of your searches until it came up in the search results again. But once I had it up, I saved the source code. There’s some hidden text in the source, so to get to the site again, I search on that hidden text.”
“That’s tricky.”
“Kind of.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
Mason shrugged one shoulder. “Make the website harder to find. Impossible to link to. Who knows.”
We talked for a few minutes more, and then he stood to go. I walked him to the basement door, where he bent and wrapped his arms around my ribcage. Surprised, but not unpleasantly so, I hugged him back.
“Maybe it’s just the power of suggestion,” he said with his cheek against my hair, “but I have this compulsion to run over here, like, hourly to make sure you’re okay.”
I could feel my pulse in my throat, and I held my breath. I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid to admit that I felt the need to have him near. If I said it out loud, I felt like I’d be verifying some of the things in my grandmother’s letter, and I wasn’t ready to do that.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” It was the truth. I didn’t want to think about the state I’d be in if the dreams continued, and I had to face them all without Mason.
He pulled back until he could see my face, and his arms dropped down to my waist. He leaned toward me, and for a second, I was sure he would kiss me. My breath quickened. Then I remembered the blurry picture of him and Sophie captured on Ang’s phone, and I pulled back out of his reach.
His face fell a little, and he hesitated. He was on the verge of saying something, but instead slipped through the door into the cool evening air.
* * *
I checked my email an hour later, and there was a message from Mason. The attachment was a screenshot showing a web page that was blank except for five username and password login pairs, each with a set of initials above it: ALL, BC, PC, RC, and TLC.
“Damn it,” I muttered. “Again with the mysterious letters.”
I pulled the pyxis from the wall and took out the waxy piece of paper. I’d pored over it a hundred times, but I had a nagging feeling that the pyxis and the website were connected. I just had to figure out how. The letters on the website definitely didn’t match the initials of anyone on the pyxis list.
I smacked my palm to my forehead. “Duh! Oh my God, I’m an idiot.” I didn’t care that I was talking to myself. I suddenly knew what P, S, and G meant. In my grandmother’s letter, she’d said I was the pyxis (P), Mason was the shield (S), and Angeline was one of the guardians (G). I had no idea what any of those things meant, but whatever they were, my grandmother had been a Pyxis, and so had my great-grandmother. Aunt Dorothy was a guardian. And Harold Sykes was a shield, same as Mason.
; I grabbed my phone and called Mason to tell him. We both agreed it was even more important that we talk to Harold Sykes again. He had to know something. I said goodbye, called Ang, and repeated what I’d told Mason.
“Well, that’s something, I guess,” she said.
“I know, it doesn’t tell us a whole lot,” I said, frowning at her lack of enthusiasm. “But as far as we know, Mr. Sykes is the only person on this list besides us who’s alive and coherent. He’s our best chance for answers.”
Actually, there was one other person on the list who was alive and coherent, and seemed to know a lot more than me and my friends. I remembered Harriet Jensen’s cold green eyes, and a tingle crawled up my spine.
|| 21 ||
THE REST OF THE week passed in a blur of school, coffee shop shifts, homework, and more futile searches for information about the pyxis. Ang and I dumped the rest of the cookies down the food grinder in the café sink. We couldn’t draw any firm conclusions about the effects of the blue and yellow liquids, so we hoped Mr. Sykes would be able to explain everything and spare us any further experiments on our unsuspecting classmates.
Friday afternoon, Mason sent me a text just as school was letting out.
caught up w Mr Sykes. Call me ASAP?
“Hey, what’s up?” I said when Mason answered.
“I think you need to hear this,” Mason said, his voice tense. “Can you come to Mr. Sykes’s house right now?”
“I’m just leaving school. I’ll walk straight there, and I’ll see if Ang can come.” I hung up.
“I’m going with my parents to help my cousin move,” she reminded me.
“Crap,” I said, frowning. “Sounded like Mason had something important to tell us.”
She promised to text as soon as she was free, so I left her and walked as fast as I could to my grandmother’s neighborhood.
Out of breath, I knocked on Mr. Sykes’s door. I glanced down the street at my grandmother’s house and chewed the inside of my cheek. It still felt strange to know that the house was just sitting there empty. Mr. Sykes let me in and hobbled ahead of me to the living room where Mason sat on the sofa.