Forbidden

by Lori Adams

  I sit on the steps and hang my head between my knees, feeling a little better with fresh air in my lungs. Michael is pacing and waiting, finally allowing me to explain. I talk at my shoes and say, “Michael, what are you doing here?”

  “We’ll get to that later, now please tell me what you were doing in there.”

  I suck in more air. “You won’t believe it. There was this guy—wait, first I felt this strange ripping inside me and I thought, I mean, I knew I had to defend everybody against these weird shadow thingies that weren’t really there. And then this guy appears outta nowhere, and then he disappears just like that.” I try to snap, try to snap, try to snap my fingers but they are rubbery and won’t work so I drop my hand.

  “What were you trying to do?” Michael demands again. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he ignored my amazing statement. I compose myself, tenderly lifting my head so as not to slosh the contents. I’m surprisingly coherent, considering all I’ve been through.

  I don’t want to explain about Steve and the curse so I say, “That’s not important. Did you hear me say there was a man in there who—”

  “Sophia!” Michael yells, and my spine stiffens. I hadn’t noticed that he is genuinely concerned. No, it’s more than that. Michael is scared.

  I go to him on shaky legs. “What is it?”

  Michael’s face melts with regret for his temper, and he squeezes my hands. “I’m sorry, Sophia, it’s just that … I was worried and you did promise not to do anything foolish again.” He waits for me to deny that I’ve been foolish but I can’t. “Please just tell me, exactly, what you guys were trying to do.”

  “Just messing around, really. It was stupid. They were trying to hypnotize me and …” I shrug and laugh it off.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yeah, basically. But it was bizarre. I’ve never been hypnotized before and I think I fell into a trance or something ’cause I didn’t feel like me. I mean, it was me, but a different me. Just like—” Just like the night I tried to kill Steve. I close my eyes and shake my head until the intruding memory falls off. “And then … the wind was blowing inside the room. Freezing wind, like, your-tongue-sticking-to-the-north-pole kind of freezing. And then I think the candles went out and—”

  “Did you have a Ouija board?”

  “What? No. They were just trying to hypnotize me.”

  Michael squints like he doesn’t quite believe me and then says to go on.

  “Well, then I opened my eyes and I saw this guy. He was all white and silver and armed to the teeth, like a knight or something. He was really cold and sorta floating in the corner. And then he looked at me and I think he asked ‘Can you see me?’ Anyway, I said, ‘Uh, yeah,’ or something. And then he started to glow brighter like a—”

  Michael pulls away and groans, running a hand through his hair. He obviously doesn’t like what he is hearing. He moves to the sidewalk and starts pacing. I trip over hedges trying to catch up with him.

  “What is it, Michael? I’m a freak, right? You think I’m a freak.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I know it sounds weird. I was in a trance, though, right?” Even I’m not sure I believe this. What I saw was real. I know it. But I need some kind of reassurance. For some reason, I think Michael can provide it.

  He is working on an answer, or maybe he has a question like, Have you eaten any funky ’shrooms lately? He looks pained, so I take his hand.

  “What is it, Michael? You know, don’t you?”

  Michael is struggling like he has ADD and can’t sustain a single line of thought. “Sophia, you were … you guys tried to … somebody called for …” He rubs the back of his neck, contemplating, and then stops abruptly, his anguished expression dropping like a stone. His eyes wash in and out of color, and my second heartbeat—constant and reassuring—flares like a geyser. Something is happening inside Michael, and I instinctively tighten my grip on his arm.

  “Michael? What is it?”

  His eyes are crystallizing into prisms, and he is sliding into a trance right in front of me. Just like before. I beg to know what’s happening but he doesn’t seem to hear me.

  Milvi appears out of nowhere, startling me. She grabs my hands, trying to pry them from Michael’s arm.

  “Let go, Sophia!” she spits out angrily. “You have to let go!” Her eyes are churning like Michael’s, and I gasp in shock and stumble back.

  “I have to go,” Michael says, and then nods to Milvi. They turn and run away, leaving me shell-shocked and alone.

  For the briefest moment, I am immobile, and then my adrenaline hits and I race after them. I round the corner and reach for Michael’s T-shirt just as two blue lights flash against my eyes.

  Chapter 31

  Down the Spiritual Rabbit Hole

  My hand is full of Michael’s white T-shirt, and I shut my eyes against a brilliant burst of light. I have the sensation of being pulled forward, my body lifted and stretched and levitated. Ribbons of water brush over me like I am being dragged through the ocean. Ripples and waves swirl around but I am speeding through unaffected. I can’t understand what’s happening or why I’m not wet.

  My left arm is forced against my side but I push it through the current, a swimmer’s stroke to grab more of Michael’s shirt. I latch on and push my face up to meet the enormous pressure flattening my hair. I crack open my eyes, expecting water to seep in but there is nothing: no water, no air, no Michael. Just a tunnel of pale blue light with millions of tiny white lights whizzing by at warp speed.

  I hear a strange humming noise, wind through wings, and then Michael’s shirt rips around my hands and I panic, clenching tighter. I don’t want to let go but I am jerked backward as the material tears, one arm dangling free. The action rotates me sideways and then over again until I’m face up. The shirt gives way, and I’m separated from Michael. Fear rises in me and I scream but no sound comes out. I feel the pressure decrease as the streaking lights slow and fade and I am weightless, drifting and passing through seconds ticking on a clock. I float like an astronaut, my hair drifting up and around me. There is no breath in me, no heartbeat, not even Michael’s. I rotate, turning facedown, and see dark colors—the ground—rushing up beneath me. I scream again, and this time I hear it, strangled and terrified. With arms stretched out before me, I fall to the ground and roll up like a rug, slamming to a stop against a log.

  I inhale a bunch of dirt and immediately cough it up. My hair is a wild mess and body parts wail in protest: banged knees, bruised hips, scratched elbows. I hear a voice, familiar and angry.

  “We sensed the call and I tried to— She grabbed Michael’s shirt! She wouldn’t let go!”

  Struggling to my knees, I flip hair from my eyes and look up at Milvi, Uriel, and Michael’s father. Two things I notice simultaneously: One, I am in the woods; and two, no one is happy that I am in the woods.

  I gingerly climb to my feet and catch up with my breath. “Holy crap, what the heck was that?” I half-laugh, half-cough while brushing my hands together. I am having the most bizarre night of my life and can’t even begin to wrap my mind around that one.

  Questions are multiplying like rabbits: How did I get here? Where am I? Where is Michael?

  Before I can voice any of them, Milvi snaps at me. “You shouldn’t have done that!”

  I’m shocked by her outrage. I’ve never seen Milvi upset before. At anyone. About anything. It seems to go against her nature, which only amplifies my guilt for upsetting her.

  Before I can apologize, Mr. Patronus says, “Are you okay?” and I nod, but he inspects me anyway, dusting leaves and sticks from my shoulders. I take over and try to clean up. “Must have been quite a ride,” he muses, and I want to smile and give him a Hell yeah! but his pinched expression dissuades me.

  “What happened?” I ask tentatively. I sound disjointed because my voice is scratchy from the dust. I’d give anything for a drink of water.

  Uriel calls out, “Here they come!”
and everyone turns toward an opening in the trees. My second heartbeat pops alive as Michael moves into view. He and his brothers are walking along the side of the road. They are looking out in anticipation for something in the distance. I am elated to see him and start forward but Mr. Patronus throws out an arm.

  “You mustn’t,” he says with a mix of reverence and authority. He has a militant stance, and his eagle eyes are focused on his sons. Tall and confident like Michael, Mr. Patronus emits the same calm demeanor that Michael does, when he’s not mad or worried about me. Mr. Patronus seems like someone who could explain my night, but now isn’t the time. His concentration lies elsewhere.

  Tires squeal against the asphalt and engines roar. When two cars appear to my left—a gray Camaro and a white Charger—I know exactly where I am. The same treacherous road where Dante and I raced Wolfgang and Vaughn Raider. The same road where I thought Dante rolled the Lambo. And now the same cars from my vision are streaking toward us at full throttle. I get my mental bearings and remember what is coming, a horrific crash. Instinctively, I run ahead to warn Michael but Mr. Patronus and Milvi catch me.

  In a rambling rush, I tell them what I know. They are startled by my knowledge but refuse to let me warn the others. I am forced to watch as the teens lose control and the cars tumble over the road like discarded toys.

  Bumpers and mirrors spin away as the cars slam and rotate and slam again. Screaming and the unmistakable sound of twisting metal and shattering glass claw at my ears. I cover them in anguish. This is too much to bear! My body physically aches with helplessness.

  The boy in the red shirt flies out of the Camaro and lands on the pavement. The girl in the blue dress is tossed from the Charger’s sunroof and rolls into the ditch. The air smells of burning rubber and fuel.

  Before the smoke settles, Michael and his brothers are standing over the bodies. I am overwhelmed with the need to help, however I can, but Mr. Patronus tightens his hand around my arm as though he knows.

  “You must not go, Sophia. They should not see you.”

  “Who?”

  “The victims.”

  I look at him in question. I am filling up with curiosity, but he says, “Later. We’ll have a long talk later. For now, let the boys work. They know what they’re doing.”

  My mind buzzes with déjà vu.

  They know what they’re doing.

  Mom said those exact words when I watched Michael and his brothers save Casey James. I look back at Michael’s father but he puts a finger to his lips, and I don’t say a word.

  Michael kneels beside the boy in red. His hands make a crown on the forehead as he whispers something. Raph peers inside the inverted Charger where another boy is slumped upside down on the ceiling. Raph murmurs, and the boy rouses, moaning. He clicks open the seat belt and rolls onto his side. With Raph’s coaching, the boy crawls onto the pavement, looks for his cell phone, and punches 911. Once the call connects, Raph moves away and meets Gabe in the ditch where the girl in blue is crumpled in a heap. They roll her over.

  Mesmerized by what I am seeing, I absently mumble, “Check her ribs,” because I know instinctively from the first time I saw the crash—a rib is puncturing her lung. I don’t know how I know this, I just do.

  Raph and Gabe shoot me a hostile look across the vast space separating us, and I bite down on my lip to stop further interruptions. They continue with whatever the heck they are doing.

  The boy from the Charger crawls forward, sobbing at the gruesome scene around him. When he scrambles to the girl in blue, he passes right through Raph, and I gasp out loud. The boy doesn’t hear me but everyone else does. Mr. Patronus pulls me into the shadows of nearby trees and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I am stunned and trembling, but he has an overwhelming calming effect. Within moments I feel myself relax.

  I am aware that I am watching something extraordinary. Of course, I’d discovered Michael’s strange ability to help others but I never pushed my imagination this far. I certainly never dreamed it involved a supernatural ability of this magnitude.

  My rational side says my beliefs will conform to my reality to accommodate my sanity. They must, because this is real. This is happening.

  My practical side says, This is un-freaking-believable!

  Milvi seems to sense my internal struggle and offers to take me home, but Mr. Patronus jerks his chin to the right.

  “Not yet. We have company.”

  That grungy guy is strolling down the middle of the road. Michael and his brothers stop what they are doing and glare at him while he meanders and pokes around the wreckage like he’s scavenging a yard sale. Without a sound, Milvi disappears from my side and reappears in front of him. The guy comes to an abrupt halt on the road. My jaw drops in stunned silence and I strain to hear Milvi speaking.

  “You have a contract?” she demands, looking for something in the guy’s hands. He holds them up. Empty. “Well, what do you want?” She takes up a defensive stance, hands on hips, back straight, chin high.

  The guy grins, shoving dirty hands into cruddy pockets. “Hey, Milvi, how’s it going?” He is nonchalant against her open hostility. “Aw, c’mon, you know I gotta at least show up and have a look.”

  “Leave. Now, Degan,” Milvi warns.

  He peers at Michael and the boy in red. “Hmm, think I’ll stay a minute.” He makes to move closer but Raph and Gabe flash beside him.

  “Where do ya think you’re goin’?” Raph says, throwing an arm around Degan’s shoulders like they’re old buddies.

  With Degan under control, Michael returns his attention to the boy. He lays a hand on the bloody forehead and continues meditating. Meanwhile, the girl in blue wakes up moaning. Her friend reassures her that help is on the way, and then he hurries over to the boy in red, passing directly into Michael’s body. Michael continues his ministration unaffected. I see their images, one over the other like a double-exposed 35 mm film. The guy is crying against his friend’s chest while Michael chants something. I watch without blinking, full stun mode. It’s as if Michael and his brothers aren’t even there, like the boy can’t see them, or see Milvi or the grungy guy—Degan.

  Just like the nurse and the cop.

  This is the thing that Michael said we couldn’t talk about. But what is it?

  At this point I could easily have myself a lovely little mental meltdown, but my second heartbeat is gentle and constant, reassuring me. What I’m witnessing is a good thing, and pride swells in me because I know Michael is saving this boy’s life.

  The boy beneath Michael’s hand stirs, and his faint imprint sits upright and looks around.

  Degan reaches out and yells, “Oh yeah, c’mon on, man!” He struggles against Raph, desperate just to touch the imprint. Raph tightens his arm and snaps Degan’s neck. Degan slides to the ground, his body smoking and curling in on itself. It eventually shrivels like the Wicked Witch, leaving a pile of grungy clothes behind.

  The imprint looks at Michael and says, “Dude, am I dead?”

  “Not yet, Jake, you need to go back.”

  The imprint reclines and then pops back up and says, “Thanks, man.” He smiles and snuggles deep into his body.

  Michael sweeps a hand over Jake’s face, and after a moment, the boy’s eyes flutter and open. Jake’s friend cries out with relief and hugs him.

  All three victims are saved, and a siren sounds in the distance.

  I hear Mr. Patronus sigh heavily beside me so I do, too. He guides me to the log that stopped my graceful entrance and tells me to sit. I wring my hands and wait for the others. Uriel sits next to me and holds up a white mouse. I’m scared of mice, but after tonight I don’t even flinch.

  “Cool,” I mumble.

  “Thanks,” he says.

  And we wait.

  The silence is too much. I become aware of every nuance around me. Sweet gum trees are scattered throughout the woods, and I think it must be nice to be a tree, to know exactly what you are and what your purpose is. High overh
ead the treetops sway and waltz with the wind, proving that nature was made to be happy. The corrugated edges make a jagged shape against the dark sky, a Rorschach inkblot with stars pricking the background like peepholes.

  I know Mom must be looking down as I am looking up.

  After what feels like forever, Michael and the others walk into the clearing. I jump up, anxious for him to explain, but he is impossible to read, and his face seems to glow. All their faces do. Their eyes are translucent, with a pinch of blue in the center. Flushed with energy, they are emitting a low hum, like a power line, the same vibration I felt coming from Michael’s home.

  Mr. Patronus drops an arm over Uriel’s shoulder while the family confers quietly without me. When they reach their decision, they form a semicircle around me. I feel like an uninvited intruder. Exactly what I am.

  I wonder why Michael doesn’t come to me. Surely, he can sense my discomfort, my embarrassment. I fidget with my sleeve and give him a pleading look. He doesn’t move.

  Mr. Patronus clears his throat. “Well, Sophia, I assume you have a question or two?”

  My lips part in surprise. A question or two? Is he kidding? How about the hundred or so wandering around inside my head like lost sheep?

  With everyone staring, I am overcome with bashfulness and can’t snag one thought from the flock.

  “I’m sorry.” Mr. Patronus offers a careful smile. “This is very awkward for us. You see, we’ve never been allowed to … explain ourselves before.” I nod woodenly, and he continues. “Yes, well, we know you understand certain things about Michael. And now, of course, you’ve witnessed the entire family.”

  I swallow a bunch of nothing and look at Michael. Come to me, please!

  Michael shifts restlessly as the familiar pulling starts in my chest. My nails dig into my palms and a mental meltdown sounds like a viable option.

  “Michael has special gifts that allow him to protect people, to save them, as you’ve seen tonight. Do you understand?” Mr. Patronus nods and smiles encouragingly so I’ll verify my understanding. I nod back but think, The eyes can understand what the mind cannot.