by Debra Kristi
I hesitate in the dining room when I hear Mom address Ryland. I’m curious what story he’s going to give her. Stepping off to the side into the shadows, I listen.
“Ryland, what happened? Your look worries me.” Concern mixes with tenderness in her voice.
“Just a stupid girl fight over a guy. The thing is, I think that guy is the one.” Something thuds on the table, and a chair scoots. “It began tonight, and I’m pretty sure he triggered it.”
A deep inhale, I can’t tell from who.
“This is what we’ve been preparing for,” Ry says in a comforting voice.
“Yes, but I’d rather hoped it would never come. I didn’t want it to be her burden to bear.”
“I know.”
“A trigger, you say? From him?” Is it concern or curiosity I hear in her voice?
“I’ve been suspicious for a while now, but couldn’t be sure. I’ve kept a close eye on her. Tonight, my suspicions were confirmed.”
I linger in the dark, wishing I understood everything they’re talking about. I get that it has to do with Jaden and me. It’s the trigger part I don’t understand. Trigger to what purpose? I wait and wait, yet they remain silent. What are they doing? Silently, I take four steps back, lean to my right, and look over my shoulder into the kitchen. In the bright lights of the slender room, I see them embracing. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he rubs his hand on her back, comforting her.
“We should consider leaving now.” Ry smiles, and Mom nods in response. “Give me a few days to prepare.”
I look away. My stomach churns with rough waves of acid. They’re back to the running away business, and over something that happened at a high school party, no less. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave Jaden. Tiptoeing down the hall, I hear Ry talking about my behavior after the fight with Skylar. Carefully I shut the door to my room.
I plop onto the bed and stare at my hands. The wet and cold start to seep through and, for some reason, I don’t care. Everything I heard is a jumbled mess in my head, and I haven’t a clue what to do with myself. My puny foil horoscope stares at me from the mirror, mocking me. I tried to take this one to heart. Thought I was following it when I stepped out for the party. Now look at things.
Bring soul to your life. Stop planning, start doing.
A lot of good that did me. Thanks a lot, puny chocolate.
A light knock on the door has Crystia peeking through a slight opening before I can say anything. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.”
Silently she slips through the door, sealing it behind her. Her gaze glides over me. “You haven’t changed yet. Aren’t you cold?”
“Nope.” And of course I’m cold, although I don’t want to tell her so. “I see you didn’t waste any time grudging down.” I motion to her holey jeans, stretched caramel crochet top, and beige crochet sweater.
She shrugs, drops on the bed, and tucks her tennis shoes under her.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” I say.
“It’s so not your fault. But we probably are the only ones in the whole school not at Skylar’s party right now. That kinda sucks.”
“Yes. Yes it does,” I say for her benefit.
Hunching forward, looking like a secret is about to be spilled, Crystia whispers, “I didn’t say anything at the party, but you look different.”
“Again?” My voice spikes, and my body straightens. The news catches me off-guard.
“Only slightly.” She shrugs. “Get changed, and meet me at the park in an hour? We can still find something fun to do. Maybe we can learn to time-travel and change the course of events from tonight.” The corners of her lips lift, brightening her face.
I smile back, only half-feeling it. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Our shared chuckle is interrupted by the sound of Ry’s engine. We exchange a knowing glance.
I think about the party. About Jaden, and Skylar, and then Crystia dancing—with a girl. “Will you tell me about your new gal pal, then?”
“Maybe.” Crystia casts me a sly smile, a tease in her tone. “Probably.” She walks-spins toward the door. “See you in an hour. Maybe we can go save the world or something. It’s our destiny, right?” She grins and slips out of the room.
I go to the mirror. I need to know. My mascara is running, and my hair is a wet, mangled mess. My birthmark was already changing, so my gaze now seeks it, searching for the difference. Only slightly, yet it’s definitely changed. My birthmark is less red in color, allowing it to blend even better with the skin around it. My hand wanders to the mark, touching it lightly, and I wonder if it’s something about Jaden that causes this to happen.
Shedding my soaked blue dress in favor of blue jeans, a snug black tee, and my black boots, I promptly dry and brush the knots out of my hair. Makeup wiped from my face, cell phone in my pocket, and determination in my soul, I head for the door. Glancing back at Jaden’s jacket folded neatly on my bed before heading down the hall.
Mom blocks my path before I can get out of the house, her face pale and worn. Her mouth stretches into a thin line, and her hand falls onto her hips. Her ashen face sends waves of alarm through me. “Where are you going?”
My hands clutch at my thighs. What if it was Mom’s blood on my hands? “Out. Why?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. You should stay in tonight.”
I hook my hands on my hips, fueled with determination. “Since when does it matter? I would have been out later than this at the party, anyway.”
“That was before you blew out the party lights. It’s not safe for you right now.”
I hunch my shoulders. “So he told you.”
“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Anala. I left you unguarded and unprepared. I thought I was protecting you by sparing you the truth.” She bows her head.
“Seriously? You do realize that omissions of truth are the same as lies, don’t you? Didn’t you teach me that as a kid? You lead me to believe I’m some kind of ghost whisperer, and then I find out that’s a load of crap. Now I’m blowing up lights and pulled to strange men.” I cross my arms. “So what’s the story this time?” I try to act brave, pretend my heart isn’t pounding against my rib cage, fueled by the mental pictures I saw earlier.
“Anala, honey.” She advances with hands outstretched, and I flinch out of her reach. “You come from a substantial line of gifted women. As a family, we come from a unique tribe. The two together have gifted you some rare abilities. This guy, this Jaden, is probably from the tribe too, and meant to connect with you.”
I push my chin out. “That’s what you’re going with? Really?”
I sway to the side, try to go around her. She snaps the keys to the Explorer from the hook and tightens her grip around them. “You’re not leaving this house, Ana.”
“Dammit, Mom.” I step toward the exit. She moves to block me. “I’m leaving. Get out of my way.”
Her face twitches, and I can see the struggle play across her face. The struggle to best my control, my authority, whatever it is Ry said I had.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she looks at me again, I can see she’s in full control. Dammit. “You’re staying, and that’s the end of the discussion.”
I huff. “Fine. I’ll be in my room.”
Closing the door to my room, I take a hurried look around, then pin a chair under the doorknob to keep Mom from entering. Oscar, sprawled on my bed, raises his head to see what I’m up to and yawls. I put my finger to my lips, motion for him to be quiet. And he is. He lays his head down and closes his eyes. I turn on the radio, using music as a cover, and go to the window to jimmy it open, then wait for Mom to come thumping down the hallway. When she doesn’t show, I open it the rest of the way and climb out. Hidden in the cover of the front bushes, I slide the window closed, leaving a sliver so I can get my fingers in enough to pry it back up again later.
Openly defying my mom isn’t something I make a habit of
, so my stomach bubbles with guilt as I race down the street. But I can’t leave Crystia waiting all alone in the dark. The path to the park stretches out endlessly before me. Once I’ve put some distance between myself and the house, I give Crystia a brief call and let her know I’m on my way.
Street lamps are an endangered species in our dinky part of the world, and the thick, night sky squeezes in around me as I quicken my pace. Restless and anxious, I morph my strides to a jog. Houses give way to small businesses, and soon I’m in a flat-out run. My legs pound the pavement, and my heart throbs, as the distance to the city park closes all too slowly. Worry has set in, and I fear I won’t get there fast enough. Flashing lights and blood flicker in my memory.
The northwest corner of the park is dark and hidden in the shadows of an ancient oak tree. Not even the surrounding streetlamps penetrate the space I step into. The grass is spongy beneath my boots. The park itself is dimly lit. My mere arrival has a slight calming effect on my psyche. I inhale deeply and set out across the grass, steering away from the palely lit path, staying hidden in the shadows of the oaks lining the park circumference. Their canopy weighs upon me like a ten-ton net as I pass beneath. Nonetheless I continue, heeding the whisper telling me to remain concealed.
As the grass squishes underfoot, my shoes occasionally struggle for traction. The large, white, half-doom stage sits before me, appearing grey in the evening light. Memories of family time spent listening to the summer blues bands skip through my mind. When I arrive at the stage, my view opens to the rest of the park. I proceed to the playground and study the skate park and basketball court beyond. No one’s here at this late hour, not even the high school kids. Everyone’s probably still at the party.
Voices carry on the calm, cool waves of the night breeze. They taunt me. They’re not loud, nor are they pleasant. Uneasy feelings stir within me again, and I know, just know, Crystia is part of whatever troubles me. The vision flashes through my mind again. I thrust it away—it can’t be real.
On the basketball court are two shadowy figures. They’re not easy to see with the skate park between us.
I’m torn between running to the court and hiding to investigate further. I’m not one hundred percent sure Crystia’s involved yet. Glancing at my path, I contemplate the woodchip surface surrounding the playground. I shift to the side and circle around, staying on the quieter grass, then take cover at the closest large oak, lean around, and listen.
The words are impossible to discern as the conversation continues to grow in pitch. I find myself getting irritated. I should be hanging with Crystia right now, having a good time. Not stressing over this fight and whether it matches my vision.
I reach behind me, scratch my back. My skin’s so itchy. It doesn’t stop, and I scratch harder. I turn my gaze from Crystia, look at the tree to determine why it’s bugging me. Ants are crawling on the side of the tree and now on me. I smack them away.
With a low boom, the earth shakes, and the night air vibrates around me. A girl screams, and my body jerks. The sensation of a hundred kilovolts shreds through my innards. Before I realize my mind is decided, I’m already beside the tree, staring at the basketball court. Electric lights like fingers of red and amber lightning dissipate from the court.
It can’t be. “Crys?” Her name slips from my lips. It happens so fast. There’s no time to react.
A brisk scuffle occurs. Crystia runs and is plucked back, like he’s flung her, only he hasn’t moved. His hand swings down, sending sparks flying, and an abrupt, deep blast rocks the court. A light pulses out in a wave, accompanied by a lingering growl. Slowly it asphyxiates all light and sound within its horizon. A moan summons me, and the air quivers. Everything becomes hazy as the darkness sweeps past me, and then they’re gone. No—not gone. The event has passed, and light is restored. Someone is sprawled out on the court floor. It’s over.
There’s no controlling my reaction. It’s automatic. I take to the wind, screaming for her with every ragged breath. It won’t be her. It can’t be her. It’s not her.
Skidding onto the court, I fall to my knees beside the limp form. Not her. It can’t be. Deep down, I know the truth. Twisting her to face the starry sky, my instinct is to cradle her like a newborn. My eyes and hands search frantically, but I can’t find any wound. Just blood, more than enough. The back of her skull is a matted mess of hair. I stare at my blood-covered hands.
Panic immediately struggles for control. I force it back. Don’t panic. Not yet. I need to be strong for her. I try to recall the first aid course from school. There are things I should be doing. Cradling her face in my hands, I take a long, serious look at her. Leaning forward, I feel for any breath escaping her lips. I listen for a heartbeat and hear only silence. No no no! I won’t let this happen.
CPR. I know CPR. Feeling down the center of her rib cage, I find the right spot and begin pumping. I count off the beats, moving to give her two breaths every thirty compressions, just like I learned in swim class. I don’t let up, even when no sign of life returns. The sting of tears streaks my cheeks. Clutching Crystia to my heart, I rock with her as a mother would a child, my tears rolling furious and fast. Anger rages with the intensity of hell’s fire within me, and my sorrow is like ice making tracks along my face in contrast.
Her blood is all over me. My hands, my clothes. Everything. I’m too distraught to care. I’d give anything for it to be my blood instead, if that would bring her back to me. The world shifts darker by the moment. My body is numb, aside from an odd, kneading sensation in the few places Crystia’s blood touches my skin. The kneading morphs into tingling, then burning.
Freeing a hand, I fumble into my pocket for my cell phone. I manage to flip it open and hit four buttons.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Please help me,” I breathe into the phone. “My sister. I think…she might be dead.” The words come out with a crack.
“Okay, miss, let me get you help. Can you tell me your name?”
I hesitate. Straighten Crystia’s sweater. “Ana. Ana Janssen.”
“Okay, Ana. Can you tell me your location?”
I stare at the park. At the lights, the trees beyond the basketball court.
“Ana, do you know where you are?”
I blink. “City Park.”
“Emergency response has been dispatched. They’ll be there momentarily. Please stay on the line with me, Ana.”
I drop the phone on the rocky, blood-splattered ground, ignoring the tiny voice coming through the speaker, and return my attention to Crystia. Brushing her hair from her face, I sing to her as we wait. Over the throbbing of my head and the pounding in my ears, I hear the sound of a siren wail in the distance, getting closer each passing second.
So much blood on my hands. The vision came to pass. Why couldn’t I stop it? Why?
The night becomes a blur of flashing lights, interrogating questions, pats and hugs meant to reassure. What could possibly be reassuring right now? I don’t know how I answer the questions, if I do at all. I’m lost. Gone. Numb to the core. It takes two people to remove my grip from my sister. Letting go is something I’m unprepared to do.
Crystia is pronounced dead at the scene. Like Jeremy two years earlier, there’s no trip to the ER, only a wait for the coroner. I remain seated on the uncomfortable ground with my arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the black bag that is now my sister. After a little persuading, the officers in charge let me use one of their phones to call Mom and Ry. Mine is covered in Crystia’s dried blood.
With shaking fingers, I dial my mom’s number, fearful of hearing her voice on the other end. I don’t want to be the one to break the news, and yet I don’t want it to be a stranger. She instantly answers. And I hesitate, frozen with anxiety. My mouth opens, and my chest tightens as words I don’t fully register spill out. Then nothing but silence. When Mom starts to cry, I join her, and she hangs up.
Ry doesn’t answer. “Where are you?” I snarl to his voicema
il. “This is the worst time ever for you to go missing. You’re needed here!” I slam the phone down. How could he not know how much I need him right now?
Minutes feel like hours, and the official process is torture. I withdraw and sit in silence, only speaking to give vague answers to the questions thrown at me. I can’t tell them the truth. No, seriously, officer. Sparks came out of thin air. There was a bang and a growl, right before the air quivered, shook, and faded out. Then the guy was gone. No one would believe me. The guy? Didn’t get a good look at him either. He was wearing black and standing in the shadows. What can I say?
I gaze across the skate park, and for a minute, I swear he’s there. It’s still dark out. But I know what I saw. There by the bench, on the other side of the skate park, watching me. The guy who killed Crystia.
I bolt to my feet, but an officer stops me, and that’s all it takes. A split-second. One glance at the officer, and when I look back, the guy is gone.
I pace, pull at my hair, babble nonsensically. “He was there. Right there.”
The officer attempts to calm me, tries to grab my arm, and I push him away. Two police officers and two paramedics can’t get me under control. I’m too strong for them; I shove and yell and point across the basketball court.
A pinprick of white heat lashes at my arm, and the world is suddenly slower, calmer, turning kind of blurry. Then I’m sitting in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket. My head pounds with a torrid of bells, and I curl into myself, feeling immensely small and more alone than ever. All I want is my mom.
No one’s here for me. My sister’s gone forever. No Ry, no Mom—no one. I don’t know anything anymore. My entire life is upside down, leaving me empty, lonely, blank. Numb.
The phone rings three times before voicemail answers. Again, no answer. Where the hell is Ry? I hang up, not wanting to leave yet another message. I’m so mad at him right now I could punch something. Setting down the phone, I stare at a blank space on my bedroom wall, gradually shifting my attention to the nightstand and the picture of Crystia with Caesar. She exudes happiness. Simply glows.