Awakening

by Jacqueline Brown

  Leaning into the fireplace, I pushed open the flue. I took the old newspaper from the wood box, along with a piece of kindling. I slid the kindling between the logs and struck a match, lighting the newspaper. I held it up to the flue. The smoke wanted to come back into my room. The flue warmed quickly, pulling the smoke up and out. I leaned out of the darkened bricks and placed the burning paper next to the kindling. It was all so dry, the kindling caught in seconds and the wood a moment later. After a few minutes a bright fire burned.

  I held my hands to the flames. The orange light glowed against my skin, making my hands appear dark. I closed my eyes. There was no denying what I had seen against the stone. I lowered my head in defeat. It was a handprint, exactly as Luca had said. I raised my head slightly and gazed at my hands, turning them back and forth in the firelight.

  I lay my head on my folded knee, watching the fire.

  The print could have been made by anyone, I decided after a few still moments—my mind now calm and able to think clearly. A dark handprint could have been made with paint or even mud. The idea of it being burned into the stone was ludicrous, just as everything else Luca said. I raised my head and held my knees close to my chest.

  I felt bad for him. He believed everything he told me. How long had he been this out of touch with reality? I hoped my dad was right. I hoped it was Luca’s complicated grief making him imagine dead people in our yard. Seeing things other people didn’t … that meant he was psychotic. I shook my head in anguish and lay my head back against my knees. How unfair life was. First, his mother killed herself and now he’d lost his mind.

  The fire danced, the orange light covering the soot-stained bricks. My heart ached for him. I knew what he was going through. I knew what it was to lose a parent in a tragic way. One minute they were there, telling you they’d be back by lunchtime, and then … tears ran down my cheek. And then your father was running from the house, with a pain in his eyes that could never be imagined or forgotten.

  I forced myself to stand. Sitting there watching the fire wasn’t helping me. I went to the light switch and turned off the light. I pulled a blanket from my bed and wrapped it around me. I went to the window. If he was there, he’d be able to see me, my face made orange by the firelight. He wasn’t there.

  It was far too late.

  His house glowed. I hoped he was okay. I hoped his mind would heal, and that Sam and Jason would be patient with him and give him time to grieve. That kind of grief … I swallowed my thought … it lasted so long.

  The moon sat low above the ocean.

  My heart raced, and I leaned forward, pressing my hands against the glass, the blanket falling from my shoulders. My eyes stared in confusion. A light … a light at the inn. This time it was unmistakable. This time I could not pretend I didn’t see it. How? Who?

  It had to be Luca. Who else could possibly be there? Who else would be crazy enough to go to a deserted ruin of a building in the middle of an autumn night? The temperatures were dropping. No sane person would be out there on purpose.

  I stepped away from the glass and picked up the blanket. If I were a braver person, I’d go there now and confront him. But I was not a braver person.

  I was a coward.

  The loss of his mom made him insane; the loss of mine made me terrified of life. Both of us had been changed in ways I was sure our mothers never would’ve wanted. I pulled the blanket tight around me. From my bed, I watched the orange flames rise and fall, as if fighting for their freedom, though fighting what, I could not tell.

  ***

  The next morning I woke up on my floor, the blanket still around me. I ran my fingers through my knotted hair. I stared at the darkened fireplace. It had not been a restful night. I dreamt of being attacked by the dead—burned by the mere touch of a hand. I stood, pulling the blanket with me. I stared, unseeing, out the window. The dreams I had, combined with the bright morning, made me question something. Something I hadn’t questioned last night. What if Luca was right? What if he was telling the truth, not merely as he perceived it but the actual objective truth. What if he could feel evil and good, and see dead people. What if one of them left a handprint on my house?

  I shook my head. Impossible. It was all impossible, and I was a fool for thinking even for a moment it might be possible. I stormed from my room in frustration.

  In the kitchen, the oven was on.

  “Good morning,” Gigi said, her fingers gently touching the side of my face. “You look like you slept on the floor,” she said, her finger tracing something, probably lines, on my face.

  “I think I fell off my bed,” I mumbled.

  “Your mom used to be like that,” Dad said as he came toward me and kissed me on the top of my head.

  “She used to fall off the bed?” I asked, giving him a dazed look.

  He laughed. “No, or at least not while we were married. But she would sit up and call out or talk in her sleep. Though only on the nights when she was most troubled by something,” he said knowingly.

  I turned away.

  The oven timer beeped. Gigi opened the door and the heat poured out, making the ends of my hair fly up. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  I nodded as she pulled blueberry scones from the oven. She’d made them for me; she didn’t have to say it.

  She set the tray down and slipped one onto a plate. I took it to the table. They followed me.

  “Sweetie, what’s going on?” Dad said with concern. “Are you and Luca dating? Did he do something to upset you?”

  I watched the steam rise from the scone. “This does have to do with Luca, but not in the way you think,” I answered. “He made me question things, things it never occurred to me to question.”

  “Your faith?” Dad said, raising an eyebrow, doing his best to keep his voice steady. Our being Catholic was the most important thing to my mom and, therefore, to him.

  “In some ways, I suppose, though not in the traditional way,” I answered cryptically. “I guess I’m wondering how much of the sort of supernatural world is real.”

  Dad leaned back in his seat, visibly relaxing. This was a conversation he could have; this did not have to do with his daughter and a boy or his daughter leaving her faith.

  He said, “I think we are often tempted to pretend life is simply what we see in front of us, but I think the more we educate ourselves about anything, we realize how much more complicated it is.”

  “So, you believe the inn is haunted?” I asked.

  Dad lowered his head. “Just because I believe life is complicated and the spiritual world is real does not mean I believe the inn is haunted.” He stood from the table, going to the microwave to warm up his coffee.

  Gigi watched him but didn’t speak. Her silence here was not like her, and it made me wonder what sort of understanding the two of them had come to.

  On the counter, a phone buzzed. Dad went to the pile of charging phones. “It’s for you,” he said, lifting my phone.

  “For me? It’s seven thirty in the morning,” I said, feeling tired.

  Dad handed me the phone. “Thomas would like to come over.”

  “Thomas?” I said, looking at the phone.

  Gigi groaned. “I thought we were rid of him.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Thomas,” Dad said.

  “Right. Thomas and the inn, both completely swell,” Gigi said sarcastically.

  “I didn’t say either one was swell,” Dad said. “Merely that there is nothing demonic about either one.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” Gigi mumbled, getting up from her spot beside me.

  “He said he’d like to come over this morning to apologize,” I said, reading his text.

  “For what?” Dad said, sounding worried.

  “He said girls were easy to manipulate. Obviously, he meant me, though he said he didn’t,” I answered.

  Dad choked on his coffee.

  Gigi looked at him with her I-told-you-so expression.

  �
��That’s awful,” Dad said. “He’s definitely not the sort of boy I want you spending time with.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s not the sort of boy I want to spend time with either,” I said, and his face relaxed.

  Dad took a sip of coffee and stared down at the phone in my hands. “The challenge, though, is you still have to go to the same church for at least the next year and our families have known each other a long time,” Dad said.

  With a concerned expression, Gigi slid into the seat beside me.

  “So,” I said, “what are you saying? I should date him to keep the peace?”

  “How could you even think I’d suggest such a thing?” Dad said, looking offended. “No, you shouldn’t date him—or anyone else, for that matter—but giving him the opportunity to apologize wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

  I clicked on the message. Apology accepted, I typed. “There. I accepted his apology,” I said.

  A second later, my phone lit up. They both glanced at it as I read the message.

  “He says he wants to apologize in person.”

  “That seems unnecessary,” Dad said, and sipped his coffee.

  “I agree,” Gigi said, more adamantly than I expected.

  I took a bite of scone, chewing it slowly. “I’m going to tell him that’s fine,” I said. “It will give him what he wants.”

  “What about what you want?” Gigi said.

  I shrugged. “I’d rather get it done with and clear the air. Like Dad said, I have to be around him for at least the next year. I don’t want it to be awkward.”

  “For the record,” Dad said, “your accepting his apology via text was plenty kind enough. If you want to allow him to apologize in person, that’s your choice. Your grandma and I both agree you’ve done all you need to do. More, really.”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” I said. “If he wants to drive all the way out here to say sorry, it’s fine with me.”

  I typed my response. A moment later, his answer lit up the screen.

  Twenty-One

  Thomas arrived three hours later. He’d wanted to come immediately, but I’d said no, ten thirty was plenty early. I had schoolwork to do and wasn’t going to rush through my morning just to ease his guilty conscience.

  “Good morning,” he said when I answered his knock on the door.

  His summer tan was gone; in its place his skin had developed a sickly yellow tinge and dark circles surrounded his eyes. His face remained unshaven, his hair was stringy. How long had it been since he’d washed it? He reeked of body spray. How long had it been since he’d bathed, period. Was he like this yesterday? Had I missed the changes?

  “Good morning. Are you feeling all right?” I asked with concern.

  “Never better.”

  I moved away from the threshold and closed the door snuggly behind me.

  The sun was bright, but the day was chilly. He followed me, carrying his picnic basket, as I led us to a sunny spot on the side of my yard. From the distance, Jackson spotted me and loped toward me. I smiled, watching him.

  “You have such a pretty smile,” Thomas said in a sweet voice.

  I didn’t focus on his words; his words would try and suck me back in and that was not what was best for me. “Why did you bring a picnic basket?” I asked.

  “I thought we could go back to the beach,” he said. “Since our last date didn’t exactly go as planned.”

  I shivered involuntarily; his words were somehow frightening. Jackson was almost beside me, but stopped and began growling. I tuned him out for the moment. I needed to focus on Thomas, to end whatever sort of relationship he thought we had.

  “It wasn’t a date. And neither is this,” I said kindly, doing my best to spare his feelings. I had no reason to hurt him. I simply didn’t want to date him or even—if I was being honest—be friends with him. I wanted things to be as they were for the last seventeen years of our lives. I wanted to ignore him and have him ignore me.

  Thomas drew back as if I’d offended him. His skin appeared almost translucent in the bright sunlight.

  He said, “I’m not sure what to say.”

  I stepped slightly closer to him and then backed up without meaning to. “Thomas, I think it’s best if we forget about the last week or so and go back to how things were before.”

  He ran his fingers through his greasy hair, the smell of body spray overpowering when he raised his arm. “Can we take a walk, just to talk about things?” he asked, his dark eyes staring down at me.

  I began walking with him toward the backyard. Jackson growled as we came closer to him. He was, in effect, blocking our way, and at that moment I realized I had no desire to go for a walk with Thomas. That was what he wanted, not what I wanted. And I’d done more than enough for him. It was time I started listening to the voice in my head. Whether it was mine or Gigi’s, it was screaming “No!”

  I stopped. “No,” I answered, fighting the urge to follow that up with an I’m sorry. I wasn’t sorry; none of this was my fault. Except the part that had not said, No, you may not come to apologize in person. I had no interest in him. I didn’t want to be around him and it was time for him to leave.

  “No?” he said, sounding hurt.

  The day became colder as gray clouds gathered in the distance. “I appreciate your coming out here, but there’s nothing else for us to talk about. So, no, I won’t go for a walk with you.”

  His eyes hardened.

  Were they even darker than yesterday at church?

  “Why not?” he said, his voice rising.

  “Be-because I don’t want to,” I said as I backed away from him out of fear.

  Jackson stepped toward him, barking. Thomas ignored the dog and came toward me. My heart raced … I was frozen in place, not sure how to respond.

  “Siena,” Luca called from across the yard.

  I turned; Luca was jogging toward us. Thomas stopped. Jackson continued to growl, but it wasn’t out of protection. It was out of fear. No wonder Thomas wasn’t afraid of Jackson. The dog was afraid of him.

  “Everything okay?” Luca asked as he arrived at my side.

  Whatever Luca was, he wasn’t a threat to me, and in this moment I was beyond grateful for his presence.

  “Is this the reason?” Thomas said with contempt. “You’re choosing this loser instead of me?”

  “What is wrong with you?” I said, moving away from Thomas going closer to Luca.

  Thomas didn’t back down; he took a step toward me. In one quick stride, Luca stood between Thomas and me, using his body to block Thomas’s advance.

  “You need to leave now,” Luca said, his voice sounding weak.

  “What’s the matter?” Thomas said, smirking. “Not feeling well?”

  Luca cringed in pain, holding his head, but he did not step away.

  I moved in front of Luca. “Thomas, leave now,” I demanded.

  “I’ll leave when I’m ready to leave,” Thomas responded, as if he’d lost all sense of where he was and who he was speaking with.

  “This is my home and you will leave now,” I said as Jackson barked.

  “You are making the wrong choice,” Thomas said in a low, threatening voice as he came closer, towering above me.

  Luca wedged in between us again, keeping Thomas from reaching me. Luca was taller than Thomas, though in this moment he appeared shorter and far weaker.

  “She told you to leave,” Luca said, forcing his voice to be strong though he sounded as if he was going to be sick.

  Thomas shoved Luca, who fell backward, onto the lawn.

  “She’s coming with me,” Thomas said, his eyes cruel.

  Jackson barked frantically.

  “What’s going on?” Gigi said as she came around to the side of the house. The towel in her hands indicated she’d been doing the dishes before rushing outside. Avi and Lisieux ran up beside her.

  Thomas stepped back. I took Luca’s arm and helped him stand. Together we backed away from Thomas. Gigi
was coming toward us, eyes blazing. She was small and old, yet I could sense Thomas was afraid of her.

  “You’re such a freak,” Thomas said so quietly only Luca and I could hear him. “No wonder no one can stand you.”

  In a few strides he was on the gravel drive. He jerked open his car door and threw the picnic basket into the passenger seat. The lid flew up.

  My eyes grew wide. The picnic basket was empty. He had no food—nothing in it—yet he had wanted to go on a picnic. I felt my stomach heave as Thomas started his car. I swallowed hard. He was watching me from the car. I refused to get sick in front of him. He laughed, then spun out in my yard and down the driveway.

  “What was that about?” Gigi asked.

  My mind reeled. “I have no idea,” I said meekly.

  “I felt evil in him,” Luca said, breathing deeply, as if he was recovering from being hit in the stomach, though he’d simply fallen onto the grass.

  Gigi watched him closely. “Did you?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I didn’t feel it in him before,” he said solemnly.

  The wind picked up, tangling my hair and sending the leaves around our feet swirling.

  “Did he seem different to you?” she asked me.

  I placed my hand on Jackson’s head. He had stopped barking and was pushing himself against me. I didn’t want to admit the truth because doing so seemed as if I was admitting all of it could be true: the inn, the dead people, the handprint, all of it. Jackson whined as if begging me to be honest.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Jackson noticed right away, and so did I. His eyes, his face, his skin … they were different. And ….” I paused.

  “And?” Gigi repeated.

  “He asked me to go on a picnic.” My voice trembled as I fought to keep the tears back. “But when he threw the picnic basket into his car, the lid opened. There was nothing in it.”

  “Empty?” Gigi repeated, staring into my eyes.

  I nodded.

  “Did he say where he wanted to go on the picnic?” Luca asked.

  I swallowed. “He wanted to go to the beach.”