Deep Blue Secret

by Christie Anderson

  After that my mind went straight back to daydreaming about my forever lost, mystery boy.

  Second period was more of the same. I took out the small flask in my pocket that I put there this morning. Instead of listening to my teacher’s lecture, I studied the intricate artwork in the silver, wishing I knew what the substance inside could be.

  At break I still felt a small hope that he would walk through the crowded school grounds just like he did Monday, but no, the beautiful green eyes were nowhere in sight.

  At lunch Heather teased me repeatedly as we ate. Why are you so distracted? Is there someone special you're hoping to see? She assumed I was thinking about Nick Christensen which was of course way off. It actually seemed like she wouldn't stop talking about him. Maybe she should be going out with him tomorrow. Then again, a whole day at Disneyland would be a great way to keep my mind off the boy from the beach—if that was even possible.

  After Spanish class I was a little nervous about going to photography today, fearing another traumatic, emotional experience.

  Mr. Brown presented another Ansel Adams piece, making it a theme for the week. But when he displayed Jeffrey Pine, Sentinel Dome to the class, it didn't even faze me. The tree could’ve been perceived as depressing, the way it hung low and billowed over like it was crying, but I didn’t have any problems with my emotions.

  Instead, all I could picture was the mystery guy poking his face from behind the trunk, winking at me, taunting me to chase him.

  After school I went straight home and decided to get my homework out of the way, but not before wrapping myself back in the black hooded sweatshirt I left on my bed this morning.

  I didn’t have a desk in my bedroom so I usually worked in the center room of the house, the computer room as my mom called it. I believed the standard term was home office, but my mother despised the word office.

  After she had me she continued working at the hospital for a while, but when my grandparents died she was left on her own. Her schedule was too difficult to maintain while trying to raise a child by herself and she couldn’t find a job with a day shift at a doctor’s office. So she gave up what she loved to be home and take care of me.

  She worked reception at a large insurance company for several years, but she never enjoyed it.

  I could tell she was unhappy. One time I overheard her talking about it on the phone. She said she felt like an animal trapped inside a tiny cage that was draining the life right out of her. She would never say that to me though. She was talented at masking her feelings and putting on a happy face. Once I was old enough to be home alone I talked her into going back to the hospital and she seemed much happier now.

  I scooted my chair to the L-shaped desk and opened my math book. It took me a good hour to complete. I had to keep flipping back to review the example problems, probably due to my trouble listening to the teacher this morning. But I figured it out eventually.

  A crick formed in my neck from hunching over my books. All I had left was some reading for Econ, so I moved to my bed to get more comfortable. I lay on my stomach using a pillow to rest my chest on, legs crossed in the air.

  Supply and demand wasn’t exactly the most interesting subject in my opinion. It made sense how it worked—out there in the business world—but I wondered if it would ever be relevant information for me in the future. If it was, would I even remember any of it by then? It felt pretty irrelevant to my life at the moment.

  I sped through the rest of it, shoved the book aside and reached for my radio on the nightstand. The bed bounced as I hopped back onto it and rolled over on my back. With my hands clasped beneath my head, I waved my feet back and forth to the beat of the music, singing whenever I knew the lyrics.

  I was amazed how long I’d been able to focus without my mind wandering back to those dreamy green eyes—especially while I was surrounded in his big, nice-smelling sweatshirt; but they started to creep back into my thoughts. This was going to be a really long afternoon if I started back up with the daydreams again.

  I needed distraction.

  I went out to the living room and flipped aimlessly through the channels on TV, finally stopping at a movie on one of the cable stations. It was a romantic comedy I'd seen several times.

  The first half of the movie seemed like it was actually helping, but as soon as the story focused on romance, the attractive male lead lost his identity. His face faded out, overrun by two beautiful green eyes and perfectly smooth skin. When the character spoke, I envisioned my mystery guy saying those words to me instead.

  The movie didn't help but I finished watching anyway. Even though logic told me to forget him, my heart reveled in the daydreams. I wasn't sure anything could keep my mind off him at this point. I longed for one more moment with the memory of his arm around me as I lay in his lap on the sand.

  Now that the movie was over an old re-run of one of my favorite sitcoms started on the screen. At the same time my stomach growled with hunger. My mom usually cooked something earlier in the day and would leave it for me to eat for dinner. She was always taking care of me like that.

  I heated up some lasagna in the microwave which I found in the fridge. Then I brought my food back in the living room to watch the show and enjoy a good laugh.

  After I ate I glanced out the living room window behind the couch. With the days being shorter in the fall, darkness already covered the sky. It helped make the day feel like it was passing quicker, but really I knew it wasn’t that late yet.

  I sat on the couch not knowing what to do with myself.

  Then the strangest urge came over me. I was suddenly tempted to go out to my car and drive around town, hoping to find my mystery boy.

  Of course the idea was ridiculous. I made it as far as the driveway, keys in hand, before I came to my senses. There was no point in circling through the city when I had no clue where to look. Was I a stalker now? Or some kind of obsessed, crazy person? It was a stupid idea.

  Not sure what to do with myself, I walked down the driveway to the edge of the street. A gusty breeze circled my steps and I hugged the faded black sweater around my chest.

  I stopped at the sidewalk's edge, silently scolding myself for being so idiotic.

  You need to get a hold of yourself. You can't fall in love with someone you've only met once. You don't even know his name. If he really was interested in you, he would have asked you for at least your phone number. You need to forget about him, it’s for your own good.

  I scanned the moonlit street unsure what I was searching for. A radio hummed faintly from an open garage a few houses down, dim light surrounding the driveway. Several parked cars lined the curbs on both sides of the road and blue lights flashed through the drapes of my neighbor's window from a TV.

  My gaze settled on the dark house directly across the street. It was hidden behind a decorative wrought iron fence that lined the top of a short, stone wall. The fence encircled the perimeter of the yard, separating it from the outside world with bushes and trees cluttering the outer walls.

  Most of my neighbors were friendly, always outdoors and ready to greet others, but I never saw anyone emerge from the house across the street. Did anyone even live there?

  The front door caught my eye at the center of the house. The entry was out of place amid the obscure surroundings. The cottage-style door, charming and white, had a simple pattern of six glass squares covering the top half. Curiosity grew inside me and I started across the street towards it.

  I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt interested in the house—day after day I’d passed by it without a thought.

  I crept to the front gate and peered through the gaps between the rods. Something about the place drew me in. The white door called to me. I had the urge to knock on the door just a few yards away, but the gate was locked.

  There was an intercom system imbedded in the stone pillar next to the gate. I examined the box-shaped device and jumped back when a tiny camera scanned towards me. Was somebody watching
me? It panned from side to side and stopped, pointing directly at my face.

  I stared, frozen in place, but I didn't feel scared. A button labeled talk sat just below the camera.

  I slid my finger to the button and said, “Um, hello?”

  I paused, but no one answered. “I'm Sadie…I live across the street. Is anyone there?”

  I waited again.

  There was no sound from the intercom.

  I continued, believing someone could hear me on the other end. “I'm really sorry to bother you. I just had a quick question, if you're not too busy…”

  I smiled at the camera, trying to look friendly. I wasn't even sure what I wanted to ask.

  Still no answer.

  I pressed the button again. “Okay. Sorry if I bothered you. Have a good night.” I took a few steps backwards, hesitating, hoping for any sign of a response.

  When nothing happened, I sighed and crossed the street, stopping one last time at the foot of our drive to look back at the alluring house.

  7. ASH TAKES A DAY OFF

  Ash scratched his head with a yawn and moseyed from the master suite of his penthouse, wearing nothing but pajama pants. He kicked aside his combat boots lying in the middle of the floor where he’d left them last night and continued to the kitchen.

  Sure it was past noon, and a can of soda with potato chips wasn’t exactly the brunch of champions, but after being gone on a grueling mission for two weeks, he deserved a day of pure laziness.

  Ash shut the drapes to block out the chipper, violet sky and plopped on the couch to flip through the channels on TV.

  It wasn’t like there was anything worthwhile to do in this city anyway. He was growing tired of the same old thing; elite social events, loose women, underground gambling. It was all meaningless; and he probably had a good two hundred more years of this to look forward to.

  At least the missions gave him a chance to feel alive again. They kept the blood pumping through his veins.

  He stared at the TV screen but hardly paid attention, pondering how bored with his life he was. He remembered not long ago when he actually felt like his work made a difference; that it was important.

  Now, at his young age, he’d already accomplished more than others could dream of in a lifetime, yet it never seemed to be enough. He was not enough.

  Ash clicked off the TV and tossed the remote aside. Wasn’t there something he could do to fight the slump he’d fallen into?

  He reached for his soda on the side table and accidentally knocked over a picture frame. He picked up the fallen photo and held it in his lap. He and his best friend, Rayne, stood proudly in their Academy uniforms at graduation. He felt almost nostalgic.

  Those were the days, weren’t they? Back when he knew what he was working towards; when life had a clear purpose.

  It had been a while since he’d heard from his old roommate. The longer Rayne was gone on his precious little assignment, the more distant they’d become. He used to drop by to visit Ash at least every month, but not lately.

  Maybe it was time to drop in on his old friend. Rayne would probably know how to kick him out of the rut. Ash looked at his friend’s goofy grin in the photo and had to chuckle to himself. That lovable schmuck couldn’t have a bad day even if he tried.

  There was a muffled clank from the other room. Ash went still and placed the picture frame on the couch, listening. His trained ears picked up the faint sound of movement and he reached quietly for the gun secured to the underside of the table.

  He moved cautiously towards the sound coming from the entryway, ready for confrontation.

  A gruff, male voice called from around the corner. “Ash? You here?”

  Ash peered from behind the wall at the shaggy-looking figure and immediately pounced on him, taking the man to his back.

  The man glared with hideous black eyes from the floor. “What? You don’t recognize your own father?”

  Ash stared at the mangy, wrinkled face with disbelief. Was it possible? This man looked like a street rat.

  Voss smirked with a wild look in his eye. “Get dressed, son; you have work to do.”

  Ash would recognize that snide voice anywhere. He released his father in stunned silence. He could only assume the man was a fugitive. Last Ash knew his father was rotting to oblivion in exile; forgetting all about what a horrible disappointment his son was.

  Voss stood stern and commanding, eyes tight. “I want a hot shower, a new suit, a fine meal, a bottle of wine…and your oath of silence.”

  8. NORMAL

  I turned to the side on my pillow but flipped to my back again. I couldn't relax. I lay in bed for at least an hour, just thinking and thinking. How was I ever going to find those green eyes again? Except for maybe in my dreams tonight.

  I wore his sweater to bed. I took it off at first but I missed it. It called to me from across the dark room, his face lingering in my mind. And I pictured his lips, the lips that came so close but never touched mine.

  I longed to know his mysteries. But why? He was just a boy.

  I felt something though, a connection. Didn’t I? Or was it just a silly crush clouding my judgment? It was probably just how he acted so secretive and the way he disappeared all mysterious that attracted me. If I got to know him, he’d probably be as normal as the next guy, right?

  Scenes from the last few weeks played through my head like a movie. Technically, nothing much had changed. I caught up with my mom in the mornings, I went to school, I chatted with friends, I did my homework, I listened to music, all normal teenage girl stuff. So why did it feel like everything was different?

  Wouldn't it be easier to forget all this and go back to life as usual? Could I forget, even if I tried? I wasn't sure I had control over any of it.

  I thought about earlier in the day when I was doing homework. I’d noticed something strange about the tear-shaped birthmark on my left wrist. The color seemed different, not as black as it usually appeared. It was more like dark blue.

  I tried to look at it closer in the light, but the change was too subtle. Maybe I just imagined it.

  I shrugged it off, figuring my eyes were playing tricks on me due to the recent head injury. But getting ready for bed I noticed the mark again. I felt sure it was dark blue. It had always been pitch black my entire life. Why would it suddenly change now? It was so strange. A lot of strange things were going on lately.

  I almost didn't know who I was anymore. What happened to carefree, fun-loving Sadie? Where was the girl who loved to hang out with friends, dance, and play at the beach? I liked being that girl. It never crossed my mind to be anything else, until now.

  Did any of those things have meaning to begin with, or was it a bunch of silly nonsense? And was there some purpose to the strange stuff happening to me now?

  No, I was just reading into things. The crazy spells would probably blow over in a few days and I would go back to life as usual. That sounded easier.

  My head was swimming, but at least I didn't cry. I didn't feel sad like I did when I saw Mr. Brown's photograph of the rose. I just felt confused. The last few days had been a roller coaster of emotion. I didn't know how much of this I could stand. I should be enjoying my senior year, shopping, and going to parties like a normal Southern California teenager.

  ***

  The next thing I knew it was morning. My body felt well-rested but my brain was tired. My sleep had been filled with strange images and dreams creeping in and out of my mind all night.

  I stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath, wondering if this would be a normal day or one filled with strange surprises. I wanted it to be normal.

  I was tired of the frustration and wondering about things I couldn't possibly figure out the answers to. I made a goal to do everything I could to make this day as normal as possible, to clear my mind of the confusion. That meant no crying, no contemplating deep subjects, and definitely without question, no fantasizing about mysterious boys.

  I was careful in my c
hoice of music while showering and getting ready for the day. At first I tried steering clear of music all together, but quickly realized I needed the distraction to push out any wandering thoughts.

  Anything emotional or lovey-dovey in any way needed to be avoided, which limited my choices; so I stuck to upbeat dance music and even threw in some rap. I figured those were safe selections. I didn't want to take any chances with my emotions.

  I moved to turn off my bedroom light and hesitated. His black sweatshirt lay at the foot of my bed, looking all cozy and inviting. For a moment I thought about carrying it around with me all day, but I stayed strong. I forced my feet to turn quickly, flipping off the light and leaving my fantasies behind.

  My mom made oatmeal and toast for breakfast. I moved hesitantly as we carried our bowls to the table. There was a good chance she would ask how my week was going and I wanted to avoid the subject as much as possible. It would only lead to more thinking about all the things I specifically set out to avoid today.

  I knew my mother would respond poorly if I told her I’d fallen and hit my head at the beach. The last thing I needed was a frantic mother forcing me to the hospital for a scan of my brain. I felt fine. I didn't like keeping secrets from her but some things were best left unsaid.

  The memory played back in my mind of being knocked off my feet and plunging into the ocean below. I held a hand to my head, feeling the spot where the rock had left its mark, but I couldn't feel anything. There wasn't even a bump.

  “Mom…” I said.

  She glanced up from her spoonful of oatmeal and waited for me to continue. “Yes, honey?”

  The words froze in my throat. I wished I could let my heart release the feelings trapped inside me. I wanted to tell her about everything, the emotional episodes, my fall into the sea, the mysterious boy, my unexplainable attraction to the house across the street, and the suppressed urges to run away from my life despite how wonderful it was.