Gates of Eden: Starter Library

by Theophilus Monroe

  While practically every guy in the school was drooling over her, the girls seemed to dislike her out of envy.

  But I was Emilie-blind.

  I may have been the only guy who wasn’t using every interaction with her as a pretense for a date invitation. While we didn’t interact much outside of school, being Home Ec cooking partners gave us plenty of time to get to know one another. We’d eat lunch together from time to time and chat about random shit. Like the weather, and how different things are in Missouri than the Deep South.

  I suppose it was because I wasn’t ogling over her every time we talked that she naturally befriended me. Tyler was enviously convinced that she was into me. If that was the case, I was oblivious to it at the time. I think she just found me “safe.” Someone she could talk to without being subjected to any ulterior motives. Emilie seemed to actually encourage the friendship, which I found oddly disappointing. Somewhere, deep down, I hoped Emilie might express jealousy over it. An embarrassingly infantile sentiment, I know. Emilie was probably the only one who wasn’t jealous of Joni, but perhaps the only girl who had legitimate reason to be. That is, if she really had romantic feelings for me. Regardless, understanding female psychology was far beyond my intellectual capacity. I was probably overthinking things.

  But what if I wasn’t?

  Ugh.

  I don’t know.

  Anyway… Joni and I were busy kneading dough. Something I’m sure Tyler would manage to turn into innuendo if he had the chance. We were learning to bake French baguettes. Joni had been silent all morning. While it wasn’t unusual that Joni wouldn’t partake in the other girls’ gossiping, a different mood had settled on Joni this morning. She didn’t greet me with her usual smile. Instead, she was looking at me curiously. It was as if she was working up the nerve to ask me something. Was she hoping to ask me out? What would I say if she did? Was I hoping she would… or hoping she wouldn’t? So many mixed emotions. Then when she spoke, I quickly realized my nerves—while appropriate to her statement—were misplaced.

  “I saw it, you know.”

  I hoped she wasn’t referring to… “Saw what?”

  “The tree. I was a few cars back. I saw your car.”

  “Oh…” I was at a loss for words.

  “It—the tree, I mean… it saved you, didn’t it?”

  Crap. I really thought we had snaked through that incident unnoticed. What could I tell Joni? I didn’t even have much of a clue myself. I rubbed my hands together under the faucet, rinsing the flour away while I searched for a rational explanation. I had nothing. “I don’t know, Joni. It was all so… surreal.”

  She snorted. “Not the word I would use.”

  “Seriously? How could that not be surreal to you?”

  Joni shrugged. “I’ve seen it before.”

  “You what?”

  “I mean… not exactly. I’ve seen things like that. Things that would freak most people out.”

  “Joni, do you know what it was? I have to know…”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “No, how would I?”

  “But… your eyes…”

  Great. Just great. This was going to get awkward quickly. I tried to feign ignorance.

  “I pulled around you when you stopped. I saw them, Elijah.”

  The most I could hope for now was her secrecy. But how could anyone keep a secret like that? I had visions of news reporters, scientists strapping me to a table, probing me with unknown instruments in uncouth places. I had to make her promise…

  “Joni, please don’t tell anyone,” I implored. “You have to swear it.”

  A slight grin formed at the corners of her mouth. Her voice remained cool and calm. “You really are clueless about this, aren’t you?”

  “Swear it, Joni,” I said urgently.

  Joni laughed. “I would never tell. I just can’t believe you don’t know how you did it. A spell like that… it can take years to learn.”

  “A spell?” I interrupted. “What are you talking about? You know something…”

  Joni reached into the top of her shirt and pulled out some kind of strange necklace. A small burlap sack, fastened together by a pink ribbon, hung from braided hemp. She put it over my head, tucking it under my shirt. “Wear this. For now it should prevent anything else from happening. The tree… that was luck. If you don’t know what’s happening, well… could be bad. Wear this for now.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Joni retrieved a pen from her book bag and grabbed my hand. There was something odd about her touch. A tingling sensation, almost like electricity, passed from her hand to mine as she began writing on my palm. I checked her nails. French tips, not black tips. Joni wasn’t the girl in black… but she did know something.

  She was writing numbers. Wait… her phone number. Tyler was going to be so jealous…

  I couldn’t help but feel the allure of her seduction as she finished writing and directed her baby blues into my eyes. The proximity of her body to mine, along with the sweet scent of her perfume, was moderately arousing. Had I seen the girl in black’s nails correctly? Something felt… similar… All the allure, but none of the repulsion I had felt from the girl in black.

  “We shouldn’t talk about it here. Call me.”

  I nodded.

  She winked.

  The oven dinged.

  Joni grabbed the mitts and inserted our oddly misshapen baguettes. I set the timer.

  “One question, Joni. They said the tree disappeared. Know anything about that?”

  She smiled. “Like I said, honey—call me.”

  “Sure, Joni. Thanks.” I quickly jotted her number down in my notebook. I wasn’t sure if the digits would survive the remainder of class. Home Ec gets messy.

  What a strange interaction. I wondered to myself what the little bag now pressed between my Wise-Ass shirt and chest contained. Could I trust it? Could I trust Joni? It wasn’t like I was full of options. I had no idea what was going on, and Joni seemed willing to help. And it was only a matter of time before I’d encounter the girl in black again. I needed to figure this out, soon. Joni might be my best hope.

  The smell of baking bread was strangely comforting. We wouldn’t get to eat it until the next day. Class was almost over. Our Home Ec teacher, Mrs. Stoup, would take care of the baguettes when the ovens timed out. After that class, nothing too eventful occurred the rest of the day.

  By the end of the school day, though, I had probably heard a dozen different theories regarding the oak tree incident. “Aliens” or “hoax” were clearly in the lead. By fifth period, according to Ms. McDowell, the local authorities had “conclusively determined” it was a hoax and that the pictures had been analyzed by “experts” who suggested that they had been digitally edited in advance. Thank God for the “experts.” It still wasn’t clear how they were going to manage all the personal testimonies. It had happened during rush hour. A couple hundred people had to have seen it, at least. And whoever was behind hiring or manufacturing these “expert” testimonies had to know the truth. Someone, somewhere, was out there trying to figure this out. Was it her? I must confess, a part of me was afraid. But some things we can’t control. I’d leave those worries for another time. Still, it seemed like most people were well-primed to dismiss the rumors as something less than fantastical.

  I suppose that’s just the world we live in today. The supernatural—the paranormal—we’re fascinated by these things so long as there’s some room to doubt, to question, to explain it. But when it stares us in the face? When there is no alternative explanation? When something scares the crap out of us? We turn to denial. We pretend it didn’t happen. Denial is a defense mechanism. It allows us to move on with our lives under the illusion of normalcy. But not if your name is Elijah Wadsworth and you’ve somehow caused the… supernatural… paranormal… the spell… whatever it was. When some mysterious person was busy trying to lure me to the “dark side” of the force… there would be no more
“normal” in my life. And it scared me to death.

  5. Druidess

  NORMALLY THE DRIVE home was my responsibility. After that morning’s events, though, Tyler insisted on keeping the keys. I offered no objections. I was unpredictable. And they didn’t know about Joni’s necklace. They didn’t know about my conversation with her at all. I wanted to tell them. I always told them everything. And in a way, they were as invested in my recent “changes” as I was. Best friends are like that. We don’t bear our burdens alone. But Joni clearly had secrets, too; in a way, she was putting herself out on a limb to help me out. I owed her a chance to explain. Her secrets were not mine to share, not even with my closest friends. I needed her to keep my secret so I wouldn’t share hers without her consent.

  Not to mention, we were a close-knit trio. Breaking into our miniature clique wasn’t easily done. We faced things together. Always. A three-stranded rope, the proverb says, is unbreakable. Ultimately, I was depending on Tyler and Emilie. We would never break. Not so long as we stuck together. But there was no sense in refusing help when help was offered. Frankly, Joni seemed like the only person who might have some answers. And since Home Ec, all I could really think about was calling her. Not just because she had answers, either. Was she breaking into my walled-off, Emilie-devoted heart? Probably not. Too soon to tell. But something about her intrigued me. Her touch… That tingle… Something connected us.

  In truth, I was more emotionally volatile than I had ever been since those first couple years after my family died. It was hard to tell if she had touched my heart—at all—but knowing she knew my secret made me vulnerable to her. Vulnerable in a way I had never been, not even with Tyler or Emilie. It was a frightening feeling, particularly considering I barely knew Joni. But on a certain level it was also exhilarating. She could hurt me. She could destroy me. I was a fly in her web. But she could also save me… somehow… from whatever was going on.

  For years I’d relied upon my outward shell. A façade. An exoskeleton of feigned confidence and sarcastic wit. Not even Emilie had broken through completely. But for some reason, in a single conversation, Joni had. I could maintain no pretense with her. She knew my deepest secret—she knew more about it than even I did. With just a few words—“I saw it, you know”—she had struck me to the core. I was at her mercy.

  So the drive home was awkwardly, uncharacteristically quiet. We were all rendered speechless by the day’s events. We were unsure how to begin addressing whatever strange things were happening to me. The uncertainty was paralyzing. Only Joni’s knowledge could break the silence.

  Emilie kissed my cheek as she exited the car and reluctantly made her way to her apartment. Would her mom be sober? She was disappointed more often than not. I had my burden. She had hers. She would likely spend the night “dealing” with it. Making sure Sam had his dinner. Hoping her mom would pass out sooner than later. I always felt helpless dropping her off after school. I wanted to rescue her… somehow. But there was nothing I could do beyond lending her an ear. And that was all Emilie ever expected. I always called her before bed. I had no solutions. No advice. But she needed a sounding board. An empathetic ear. I could be that. It helped her sleep. And her voice was always the last thing I heard before going to sleep. Sweet dreams for me, too.

  Tyler finished the drive home. Somehow the remainder of the drive escaped my recollection entirely. I’d drifted off into my own head, repeatedly recalling the happenings of the day. The haunting image of the girl in black, the feel of tree roots suffocating me, continued to plague my mind.

  The girl in black… should I tell Tyler and Emilie about her, about what happened? She was dangerous. She wanted me, not them. If they knew about her, about what happened, they could be put at risk. I couldn’t tell them. Not yet.

  The abrupt stop, the jingle of the keys as Tyler retrieved them from the ignition, and the sudden absence of the whiny sound of the Escort’s engine startled my senses and diverted my mind back to the present. I hopped out of the car and darted for the front door. I had a phone call I needed to make.

  Gene and Lois wouldn’t be home for a few hours. Tyler would likely settle into some obscure textbook in his room. I would have some privacy. As I approached the door—a good five paces ahead of Tyler’s casual pace—I noticed a small white leaflet attached to the front door. I grabbed it. A missed-delivery notice for certified mail.

  The addressee: Elijah Wadsworth.

  From: Merle Nesbitt—Attorney at Law.

  It took me a moment. I should have been expecting it, looking forward to it, even. I was just so preoccupied. Nesbitt was the lawyer who managed my parents’ estate. Their will was specific and oddly configured. Aside from some financial assets and a few personal effects—most of which were destroyed by the fire—the remainder of the estate was to be left to the care of this lawyer, Nesbitt. In truth, I had no clue what else there might be. I never knew how much money my parents had. Was there more to inherit now that I was eighteen? It was a mystery. He apparently had very specific instructions. Aggravatingly, I was not even to be apprised of those details, much less the will’s contents, until the remainder of the estate was officially transferred to my name on my eighteenth birthday. Today.

  I checked the opposite side of the notice. I could pick it up at the post office today before five, or wait for a second delivery attempt tomorrow. It was already past three. I had time, but not much. Enough time to call Joni.

  I stuffed the postal notice into my front pocket and took a direct path to my bedroom. A headbutt-styled greeting from my cat, Indie, immediately claimed my right shin. He nearly knocked me over. He was a silver Bengal, named as such for the tiger-like stripes of his breed. And due to his size, some might even mistake him for one. Indie was a monstrosity of feline friendliness, big and imposing, but I’d never once heard him hiss. He’d always been an inconvenient combination of curiosity and clumsiness. A poor mix of attributes—until it saved his life. He had survived the fire. Somehow he managed to pry open the freezer but had closed it on himself. Any other day he might have frozen to death; that day, it saved his life. A fireman heard his meow. It was a small miracle—but more than a small comfort in my mourning.

  Indie jumped into my lap as I dialed Joni’s number.

  Why did I feel butterflies as the phone rang?

  It rang again.

  She answered on the third ring. “Hello,” she answered with some anticipation in her voice.

  “Joni. It’s Elijah.”

  “I thought so. I don’t want to do this over the phone. Can you come over?”

  “Well, Tyler isn’t sure I should drive…”

  She cut me off. “Still wearing that necklace?”

  “Well, yes,” I affirmed as I patted its form through my shirt.

  “Then you’re fine, hon.”

  “Okay. I have an errand to run anyway. Address?”

  I jotted her address down on a scrap piece of junk mail. We said our goodbyes. I rubbed Indie behind the ears and set him on the bed.

  “Meow!” he protested.

  “I know, pal. Be back soon. Promise.”

  Another quick pet from head to tail elicited a predictable rise in Indie’s hind quarters. I grabbed my set of keys to the Escort and promptly headed for the front door.

  “Tyler,” I shouted, “off to the post office.” I quickly left before he could protest. It wasn’t a lie. I was going to the post office, then to Joni’s. I didn’t owe him every detail.

  I picked up the package. It was larger than I’d expected. I had assumed it was an envelope with financial figures or written instructions. I figured I’d have to sign something and send it back. This package was maybe three pounds. It was about the size of a shoebox.

  I opened the package. Inside was a metal box of some sort. Also a thick envelope. I flipped open the latch to the box. It contained a baseball-sized stone, smooth to the touch, set into a velvet-covered impression made to accommodate its shape. An unusual symbol, embossed
in amber, decorated the stone’s surface. A circle. Its upper hemisphere was separated by a parabolic semi-circle beneath which three lines fell like rays or beams of light emanating from the sun.

  Great, I thought, another mystery. I opened the envelope. Several pages of legal mumbo jumbo, marked with a few blanks to sign, concluded with an impressive figure. Apparently a wisely invested sum of money was now worth…

  $46,567,103.

  I rubbed my eyes. I checked again.

  The number hadn’t changed.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have been shocked by this finding. I was a freaking millionaire. But the day had left me with greater mysteries that needed solving, things more frightening than any sum of money could assuage. I flipped through the pages again. Apparently I’d inherited some property down in the Ozarks, and the lawyer had arranged a time to meet there so we could sign the deed and handle the rest of the paperwork. Strange, I didn’t remember our parents ever taking Lily and me to a cabin down in hillbilly country. I perused the paperwork further, looking for something that explained the meaning of this amber-encrusted stone now resting in my lap. Nothing.

  I didn’t want to keep Joni waiting, so in spite of a passing thought to trade in the Escort for a Lamborghini, I hid the package behind the passenger seat to dissuade any thievery and made my way to her house.

  I presumed it would be a nice house. Her family was wealthy, though I had no clue what her parents did for a living. But her house—at least from external appearance—wasn’t just nice. That’s putting it too mildly. It was extravagant. An old house, turn of the century, I’d wager. All brick and stone. Flawless tuck-pointing. Marble columns framing a spacious porch. The steps leading up to the porch matched the columns. The lawn was immaculately landscaped. Flowers on either side of the approach were in bloom.