What Lies Beyond

by B. B. Palomo

  “Hello?” I asked the question aloud as if I expected a response. A quick peer through the shelves behind me showed an empty desk where Ms. Jasmine usually sat, indicating she was on a smoke break outside she thought no one knew about. I walked to the end of the aisle, looking down the bookends to the right and left. “Is anyone here?”

  No response. Unsurprisingly, Willow.

  I let out a humorless laugh, trying to relax the frayed nerves still telling my heart to pump faster. I was too old to be scaring myself like this. This wasn’t the first time I’d been alone in this building, and it wouldn’t be the last. I needed to get a grip and remember that ghost stories are—

  Bam!

  “Aah!” I jumped and screamed out, my stomach shooting into my throat.

  I jerked my head around to where the sound came from, not noticing anything at first. After a moment, my eyes landed on a book that had fallen off the cart and now lay open, pages down on the ground. I scanned around again, expecting someone to jump out and tell me it was a prank, but the silence was all that greeted me.

  Hand pressed firmly to my chest as if it would stop the erratic beating, I moved toward the book slowly, preparing for it to come to life and slice me with its pages in a vicious attack. Quickly, I snatched it up, the corners of my lips tilting north with misplaced terror still coursing down my trembling knees. The spine was worn, but the thick lettering spreading across it was still bold and legible.

  My breathing hitched, lodging painfully in my neck as I turned the novel over in my hand. I ran a jagged nail over the cover, my index finger dipping into the soft indents of the title. Moby Dick was in bold font on the front. My throat burned like I'd swallowed acid as I tried to keep the emotions from welling up and spilling over. There was no way to suppress the flood of memories throbbing in my temporal lobe. No way to forget the countless nights Dad would read this book to me as a child or when he bought me my very own copy on my twelfth birthday.

  A whispering breeze tickled my ear, wordless but thick with a code only I could decipher.

  “Are you there?” I asked the air, hugging the book to my chest tightly. I waited for the slightest stir, hope blossoming at the chance to see him once again.

  Time crawled as I listened, straining my ears until all I could hear was the frenzied buzzing of a beehive inside my head. I begged for another sign, anything to prove that the book was more than just a coincidence.

  My prayers were answered.

  It was a slight creak. Easily missable if you weren’t actively searching for the disturbance. I stepped forward, barely noticing the piercing cold metal of the pushcart as it brushed my hand. Energy emanated from around the corner, beckoning me forward right as a shadow raced from view.

  I froze.

  It could have been a trick of the lights, or maybe my mind expanding on the tale I was creating in my brain. Still, I ventured ahead once again as it pulled me closer. I wanted to see what—who, was there.

  The click of the large clock stilled. I splayed my fingertips out in front of me like I was stranded in the dark and they were my only compass. My breath came in short bursts as I approached the end of the shelves, only needing to turn to face him.

  “Dad?”

  Strong hands gripped my arms, pulling me in as I struggled to break free and get away.

  “Aaah!” I swatted, managing to break an arm loose and grab a book to wield as a weapon. I ignored the oof that stumbled from my attacker’s lips as the hardcover slammed against his shoulder. The adrenaline coursing through my veins forced each limb to act in self-preservation.

  It was him or me.

  “Willow!” An urgent voice finally broke through my fit, my name surprising me enough to give them the upper hand. Long fingers wrapped around my wrists and tugged me unsteadily forward, the book lodging between my chest and a wider set one with a familiar warm and spicy aroma.

  “N-Noah?” I stuttered and met concerned ocean-filled eyes. “What are you doing? You scared me!” I swung the book again, connecting with the bare skin of his arm. The sound permeated throughout the library, but I took care not to swing hard enough for it to actually hurt.

  “Ow!” He rubbed the spot, feigning an injury and casting a pout my way. “What was that for?”

  “You scared the ever-living bejesus out of me!” I scream-whispered, shoving the words through teeth that still chattered uncontrollably.

  “Who were you talking to?” The look plastered across his face said he had heard more than I was willing to admit.

  “N-no one,” I stammered out, embarrassed. “I just thought I’d heard something—the real question is, why are you here? I thought you’d be working still.”

  “We finished the job early, so I thought I’d come and surprise you.” He answered with a hurt tone, and I mentally scolded myself to be more grateful. “It seems I got the surprise part down pat, but you still look—stressed.”

  “I’m sorry,” I admitted, thankful when my blood pressure returned to normal. “I didn’t sleep well last night, and my dre—” I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to share that my sleep was plagued with memories of the accident. “I’m just dreading an essay that’s about to be due.”

  He lightly grasped my arm, using his thumb to draw tender circles into the skin. “Are you sure that’s it?”

  “It’s nothing—really.” I plastered a sincere smile across my face and held his gaze. I didn’t want him worrying about me. Noah was already burdened with doing the work of two men at his dad’s company so they could stay afloat.

  That was the constant struggle with construction labor. Sometimes there were more jobs than they could pitch for. Other times they fought to beat bigger companies who could drop their rates much lower than they could compete with. As such, their overhead often outweighed profit, and most of the jobs stayed temporary or disappeared altogether.

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” he offered.

  “I’m not off for another hour,” I said. “You don’t have to wait.”

  “I don’t mind. There’s a book I have meant to check out anyway. Dragons and warlocks, you wouldn’t like it.” He grabbed at the back of his neck to conceal the burning shame tinging his skin and looked away.

  “I dunno.” I stepped forward, trailing an index finger up his chest as if my mere touch could stomp out his embarrassment. “I might.” I finished with a suggestive wink.

  Noah dissolved any space left between us with a warm palm against my lower back, hugging me close. The slight curve to his lips and fully raised brows said he’d caught onto my innuendo.

  My gaze fluttered to his lips, swollen with a soft desire, waiting for me to quench that thirst. Noah leaned down as I sucked in a short breath, ready for our mouths to meet, but I stopped him before I’d lose my resolve.

  “As much as I would love to entertain this”—I laid a heavy forehead against his chest just to pick it back up when the quick beat of his heart tried to convince me—“really, really love to—but, I need this job. Plus, if those books don’t find their way back onto the shelves during a slow day, Ms. Jasmine will have my hide.” I threw a thumb jab behind me at the roller cart, shuddering at the thought.

  “All right.” He pushed his bottom lip out, and I had to envision weights on my feet to not extend onto tiptoes and press my mouth against it. “I’ll help you.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said softly, fishing my mind from the gutter and thinking mood-killing thoughts.

  Cold showers. Creepy crawlies. Senior centers.

  “I need to keep my hands busy unless you want them somewhere else?”

  Someone help me.

  I rolled my eyes before turning on my heel with lightning speed as a blush turned the tips of my ears bright red, forgetting my hair was up and wouldn’t hide it. Cursing, I took a step forward only for Noah to catch the back of my shirt between his forefinger and thumb.

  “All right, fine, you can help.” I gave in breath
lessly, not needing to turn to know a confident smirk played at his lips.

  “With the books?” he teased.

  I confirmed with a nod of my head, not convinced disappointment wouldn’t coat my voice and give me away since we both knew neither of us wanted that to be my response.

  It was well past eleven before Noah dropped me off at my house. We’d stopped by a late-night diner and shared a milkshake after our meal like those cute couples in the movies. Before, the idea would have made me gag, but I guess it’s true what they say about love.

  It changes you.

  By the time I’d set my keys onto the counter and laid my bag down, my eyes tried to seal themselves shut before I ever made it to a shower, let alone my bed. Pure will managed to get one foot in front of the other until I made it to the bathroom, where I mustered the strength to wash the day’s funk from my skin—the idea of marinating in it until morning dissipated with one quick sniff of my underarm.

  The scalding water was refreshing and helped to perk me up. Each hot droplet worked out tight muscles in my back. I’d slept wrong. It was the only logical explanation because I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever felt so uncomfortable in my body. Even after the accident, which left me bruised and beaten, I felt like me.

  I couldn’t explain it, but now I was just…off.

  Maybe it was my dream. I’d gone a great length to put the memories of the crash away, locking them until I could pretend they were no more than a horrible nightmare. Of course, my dad’s absence and Mom’s secret crying destroyed my fantasy, but for a few moments, it seemed plausible, and that was enough to get me through the day.

  I lathered my hair and body in soap until I was sure I smelled of green apples and vanilla instead of the ripe sweat I'd walked in with. Once I was sure my skin was squeaky clean, I turned off the water right as it started to grow cold.

  I stepped into a steam-filled room and wrapped my body with a blue, cotton towel. I ran a hand through the fogged-over mirror, taking myself in. New bags were prominent under my eyes as I brushed my teeth lazily under the two minutes allotted for the act. The dark coloring turned my baby blues electric, almost looking inhuman as they dilated in the light. I rubbed cream just under my lashes, distributing it evenly over the thin, puffy skin, hoping it would work its magic by morning. Adira had gifted the expensive product to me, but it was the first time I’d attempted to use it. She’d said it worked miracles, and from the looks of my face, a miracle was needed.

  I tucked my towel in tight and left the bathroom, the steam following me out into the hallway. To my relief, Mom’s soft snores stuck through her cracked door. Hearing her cry so often broke my heart, so I welcomed the break she—and in turn, I—was getting. I crept by like I was mimicking a mouse and shut my door as delicately as possible.

  After changing into clean clothes and towel drying my hair, I lay onto the bed, begging for sleep to come quickly. Exhaustion swept over my limbs but refused to pull me under. As much as I tried, I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Tossing to my left and right didn’t work. Not even my stomach or back as each position grew more uncomfortable.

  Frustration built in my chest, and I lashed out, slamming the heels of my feet on the mattress in a tantrum. By the end, I was winded and madder about my lack of physical endurance than not being able to sleep in the first place. I lurched up and flipped on the lamp next to me with a dramatic sigh. As soon as the yellow glow filled my room, it reflected off something in my closet, immediately catching my attention.

  I hauled the covers from my legs and padded over, moving stray shirts and shoes with my feet to create a trail. Confusion rippled over me as I reached down and recovered the butter knife I was sure I’d lost from the kitchen this morning. Its handle was warm in my hand as if it had just been placed there, but that wasn’t what startled me.

  The butter knife was driven through thick glossy paper, slicing right in between two familiar faces.

  It was an older snapshot, previously sitting in an oak-colored frame that stood atop my dresser until the drawer got jammed. I tried to fix it with sheer force, ramming my hip into the wood until it broke loose, but all I accomplished was knocking the picture from its perch and the glass shattering into pieces. Now, it was just the four by six print.

  Dad stood tall with me lifted on top of his shoulders. My legs draped down his chest, frozen in mid-kick. We both wore backward ball caps and matching jerseys with the local minor league baseball team emblem in green vinyl across the middle, right where the buttons lined up. He had asked another game goer to snap the picture, wanting to capture a photo of our daddy, daughter day out.

  The only difference now was the knife cutting straight into my stomach, right above Dad’s head as if it was severing the connection we had that day.

  I swung around like I was expecting him to be standing right behind me, but of course, the room was still empty. I looked back at the photo. To most people, it would be menacing, but for me, it was a message. He was trying to communicate with me. First, it had been in the library, and now here.

  He needs help.

  I left my room and retrieved the off-limits box my mom had stuffed into the back of a cabinet in her office as soon as the thought crossed my mind. Once back in my room, I locked the door, knowing if my mom caught me, she’d wring my neck. I still wasn’t sure what was going on or why I knew this wasn’t some freak occurrence. All I knew was that if he wanted to reach out to me, I would give him the platform he needed.

  A quick dash of clarity made me hesitate. Was this crazy? I bit my lip until tangy copper stung the tip of my tongue. A part of me worried I was setting myself up for disappointment. The other part of me worried about if it actually worked—if I could speak to him would I want to hear what he had to say?

  No. I owed it to him to hear out all the anger he had because of my irresponsibility.

  Slowly, I pulled the lid from the box and took out the Ouija board. I placed the planchette the same as I'd done before, centering it back over the T and read the directions, not trusting my mom’s method. The energy in the air was palpable, lifting the blond hairs on my arm as my skin pimpled. Both anticipation and fear sat in my gut like lead, taking turns feeding me the hot and cold emotions.

  I moved the cursor to each corner and then slid it back to the middle just as the directions read. My fingers trembled against the metal, digging into the carved designs that heated under my touch. I inhaled deeply, mustering the courage to be right or be fooled by my broken heart.

  With a newfound resolve, I opened my mouth to speak, but just as the incantation was about to spring from my lips, my phone went off. I jumped at the harsh sound, thrusting forward to cover the speakers with my hands until I could click the side button that silenced the ringer. My phone had been on silent, but like fate was calling my bluff, the default tone mocked my indecisiveness, and the time it ate up.

  With a nervous laugh, I stowed the board back in the box quickly and answered the phone when I saw Cora’s name blinking on the front.

  “Hello?” I said into the phone, winded and feeling like I’d been caught. “It’s late, Cora. Is everything okay?” Static filled the other line. A mixture of bad signal and someone running the phone against their jeans flowed into my ear. “Hello?”

  “Willow?” Cora’s voice finally came through, still muffled.

  “Hey.” I turned the volume up and pressed a palm against my other ear to try and retain her words. “I think you’re in a dead zone.”

  “Ca—hear—illow—ello?”

  “I’m gonna try calling you back,” I screamed into the phone as if it would solve the issue before hanging up.

  I pulled it away from my face and tried to dial her number. The call rang once and then went straight to voicemail. It wasn’t totally unusual. Her family often went camping sporadically, stressing it was the best way to center something and heal something else. They’d told me a few times, but I honestly blocked it out because dirt and bugs weren
’t really my thing. I didn’t hate it. I just wasn’t itching at the chance to share a bed with whatever creatures crawled through the night.

  As I suspected, my phone pinged with a new message.

  Camping. Crappy service. Don’t worry, just a butt dial.

  I typed out a short response, reminding her to stay safe, and put my phone away. Cora never tried to call me late before, but I trusted what she said. Actually, I wondered if her butt had my best interest at heart because I’d lost any desire to use the board as if it had deflated from me like a forgotten birthday balloon.

  I took the opportunity and walked the Ouija board back to its designated spot. The room was cold as I tucked it away. Unease seeped into my bones with the chill, and suddenly I longed for the warmth of my dad’s hug to combat the loneliness taking hold of me.

  Deathlike silence surrounded me. Not even the chirp of the night grasshoppers broke through its trap. A suffocating dread squeezed my throat, stealing my breath away. I quickly turned on my heel, wearier of the shadows lurking on the walls, and darted back to my room. Like a child, I kept my stiffened spine to the ominous feeling behind me, never looking back.

  Not even once.

  Chapter Seven

  Blood rushed to my head.

  The weight of it hurt my neck as I tried to move and get more comfortable. Mucus burned my nose as it dripped over the tip and free fell into the darkness.

  Breathing hurt.

  Everything hurt.

  Warmth snaked into my hair, the strands tickling my outstretched arms. I couldn’t concentrate past the ringing in my ears. Every time I shifted, it grew louder, stealing the only sense that wasn’t causing me agony. The world had flipped upside down.

  No.

  I’d flipped upside down.

  Burnt rubber filled my nose, but I couldn’t gag as my reflex begged me to do. Were my eyes open or shut? The lids didn’t move at my command and when I swung my arms in frustration, my scraped knuckles touched dirt. The sharp bite of the seat belt against my chest became more apparent. Just as the realization that I was suspended in the air sparked my panic, the destroyed truck creaked, further settling on the ground.