What Lies Beyond

by B. B. Palomo

  I don’t know how long he held me before the sun started to peek through the cheap, plastic blinds hanging against the window. I sniffed hard, stilling the last of my cries. Noah laughed as I wiped long and hard against the bottom of my red, itchy nose. I unraveled myself from the blankets with Noah’s help. My shirt had mostly dried and now reeked of perspiration. Words weren’t needed as I kicked my legs over the bed, needing to wash my face and change, but I still cocked my head to whisper over my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t wait for a response as I moved into the bathroom’s brighter light, closing the door with a soft click. I turned on the sink, letting the water warm just as I caught sight of the person standing in the mirror. The dark bags I’d slept away this afternoon were back with a vengeance, swollen and red-rimmed. The life that naturally flashed behind my eyes was all but gone, replaced by a dull, solemn look. My hair was disheveled, so I tried to pull it back into a ponytail.

  I tested the water with my forefinger, making sure the temperature was just right before arching over to cup my palms under the faucet. I moistened my face with the wet heat, hoping to get a grip over my increasingly erratic mind. Dirt from my attack on Timmy was still lodged under my fingernails, and no amount of scrubbing removed the debris or memories.

  I turned off the sink and placed both hands down on the counter. The granite steamed around my fevered skin, still cold from the night. Beads of water dripped from my chin, pattering against the white ceramic bowl, and all I wanted was for them to take this sickness I felt down the drain as they fell.

  Whispering snuck under the door, the words muffled beyond recognition. I quickly dried my face on the hand towel and tried to listen closer. The quiet hush was coming from Noah, but there was no responding voice. I turned the doorknob slowly, hoping to avoid the squeak that accompanied it so often. With luck, I was able to get the door open and slip out without notice. The bedroom door was still cracked as I tiptoed my way to it.

  Huddled on the edge of the bed was Noah. He was bent over and rested a sharp elbow against his knee. His hand was rubbing at the worry lines against his forehand, and he spoke into the phone. He seemed to be listening for some time before he uttered his reply.

  “Adira.” He sighed, and the way he said her name sent my hairs up. “We have to tell her.”

  My world blackened. I already knew the meaning behind that admission wasn’t going to favor my feelings. The soft tone of his voice, the way it cracked with the nervousness of being caught. Everything started to spin as the fiery anger covered my skin. I caught myself against the wall, thudding off the plaster and startling Noah, who dropped his phone and shifted on the bed to meet my eyes. His widened in fear as his lips immediately opened to sprout an excuse I had no intention of listening to.

  “Willow, wait!” He fumbled over himself as I darted toward the door.

  My shoes were long forgotten as I grasped the cold metal knob with ferocity, forcing the hinges to squeal against the frame as I rushed through the opening. The chilly concrete seeped through my socks as my feet slapped the ground, but the hot embarrassment stinging my skin kept me warm enough not to care. I didn’t dare look back to see if Noah was following me, pushing on as if I was running for my life.

  Why would he be following me? No one could love someone like me.

  The thoughts rang so loud in my mind I had to cover my ears against them. I cut through the back of town, knowing no one would be on the road here this early in the morning, instead of using Main Street to get to work. I briefly worried about what people would say if they saw me in the condition I was. Chances were they’d chalk it up as the crazy witch family doing what they did best.

  I slowed as it became harder to breathe, the lazy muscles in my legs screaming at the sudden exercise. The heat I’d harbored slowly evaporated from my body, leaving me shivering in the thin fabric of Noah’s shirt and my shorts. The tears had long dried up as white puffs froze in front of my face. I stalled for a moment, leaning against the rough brick wall of an alleyway I’d crossed into, my knees racking against each other.

  I’d never felt more alone.

  Just then, the sun shined limelight on the bright blond hair of a man rounding the corner quickly. I wasn’t surprised that someone may have spotted me and turned the other way to not get mixed up in my family, but the way he moved in and out of focus drew my attention. My body moved forward without permission, drawn to the strange familiarity surrounding him.

  I didn’t need to sneak with the bare soles of my feet, practically silencing my steps. I peeked a shy head around the corner, not expecting it to be a dead end. To the right was a tower of used, soggy boxes, and the left were three black trash bags that I could only guess had been there for at least a few weeks from the ants circling the remains. I stepped forward.

  “Where did you go?” I asked out loud.

  I scanned the area, even looking up like the man could have scaled either side of the building, but he vanished. A stray cat hissed, fighting with another, and took off, knocking over a couple of tin bins. The lids bounced off each other and rolled down the alley. The commotion startled me, changing my focus as I took off again, not wanting to be there when the morning crew of the buildings surrounding me came searching for the disruption.

  It seemed like forever before I reached the doorstep of my house. Fresh tire marks gave away the fact that Noah had come looking for me after all. It didn’t change anything for me, though. Just because he needed to clear his conscience didn’t mean I had to sit there and let him excuse away his decision.

  The front door seemed louder than usual as I stepped through.

  “Where have you been?” Mom’s head snapped in my direction, immediately locking on to my blackened feet, which I instinctively tried to hide by putting one behind the other. She shot up from her seat at the table, knocking over her glass of water. The clear liquid spilled over the edge and collected on the floor, but she never looked away from me.

  “I walked home,” I said like it was no big deal.

  “Noah came looking for you.” Mom wrung her hands, stepping closer to me. “I was worried! What are you wearing? It’s like fifty degrees outside!” I couldn’t help but pull the crusty shirt down over my shorts as if I was exposed. “Did you guys have a fight?”

  “So what if we did?” I snapped back, not feeling like being questioned on something still so raw. “And as for where I’ve been, I’m an adult. I don’t need to get your permission to leave this house.”

  “You might be an adult, young lady, but this is still my house, and you will abide by my rules.” Mom’s trademarked vein popped for the thin skin on her forehead as she became more frustrated. “You’re out running around a town that already hates us while barefoot and dressed in basically nothing. What would people think?”

  “I don’t give a damn what they think,” I lied, knowing full well I’d taken paths to avoid onlookers.

  “I don’t believe that,” she challenged me. “And what about the car? You refuse to drive, and then one day you just take off?”

  “I was facing my fears. Is that so wrong? Look, I’m sorry for not asking, but—”

  “Stop lying.” Her voice broke, and the rest of the words in my mouth dried up. “Something is going on with you. You can tell me!”

  “Oh, like you’re so forthcoming,” I argued.

  “How dare you?” She clenched her fist. “I have my reasons. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “How hypocritical,” I shouted, the anger making it hard to think.

  “What would your father think about this attitude?” she asked.

  Her words slapped me, the impact knocking the wind from my chest. They were poison, spreading through my veins until the whole world started to tilt. Hammering erupted in my head from nowhere, and my empty stomach threatened to send up acid instead.

  “He’d roll over in his grave knowing this is who you’ve become,” she added when I didn’t respond.r />
  “You don’t think he’s already done that having to see what you’ve become?” I spat back, not able to see anything in front of me but red.

  Her eyes widened in shock as she gasped to cover the quiver in her shoulders. Tears filled her eyes to the brim, never falling over as she refused to blink and give me the satisfaction of her pain.

  “It should have been you,” she whispered, but to me, the sentence was on loudspeakers in my head. I stared at her mouth, the words not lining up with the movement of her lips, or maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.

  You should be dead.

  You killed him.

  We’d be better off without you.

  Disappear.

  She didn’t have to say the rest because I knew exactly how she felt. I was the reason Mom was a widow, why she had to take up work doing something she’d spent so long trying to put behind her. I knew that, but hearing her say it reassured me. Part of me was relieved hearing the truth, while the other part of me broke into a million little pieces.

  We stood facing each other in a quiet standoff. There was nothing more to say. I’d heard everything, and the apologetic tears that she shed from fierce eyes couldn’t change anything. If she spoke, it went through one ear and out the other as I passed her, slowly making my way to my room.

  She’s never loved you.

  “Shut up!” I slammed hands over my ears, lifting them to smack myself over and over again until the ringing drowned out the voice in my head.

  I hurried and shut the door, locking myself in. My mom knocked, but what more could she say? Maybe this time, she’d wish I’d never been born. I stayed quiet until she gave up and left, the faint sound of the car pulling out letting me know I was finally alone.

  There was a tug-a-war in my soul. Two sides of myself fighting for control. I was split right down the middle in a classic good versus evil. The only problem was I didn’t recognize either one. It was more like I was a bystander who happened to get a glimpse of my doppelganger committing a crime, and even as I pointed toward the culprit, I was the only one who could be identified.

  Me, whoever that had been, was gone.

  I’d lost my friends, boyfriend, and my mom. My world crumbled, and no one would be here to put the pieces back together. People did not care that the creepy little Harper girl got what was coming to her. I hardly cared, myself, because that intrusive voice glued inside my skull whispered tenderly, with a monotonous texture of someone only saying what they had to. As if it was nothing more than a task to check off their list.

  I didn’t need to care.

  Because I’d be dead soon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The cart screeched as I tugged it along with me, the cast wheel wobbling under the weight of the books. I made easy work of the returns that had piled up, sliding their log cards into the paper slip right inside the cover before finding their place on the shelf. My fingers were cracked, their oil absorbed into the creme pages as I moved through the stacks. They burned slightly when caught just right, but the monotonous routine kept my brain from venturing to places it had no business being, so the discomfort didn’t bother me.

  It had been three days.

  Three days of isolation. Three days of ignoring the knocks at my door and the chimes that eventually had led me to turn off my phone, unwilling to even glance at the preview of messages. It didn’t matter what anyone had to say. Mom had been honest, Noah and Adira had been caught, and nothing would change either of those betrayals.

  I’d barely eaten and only showered because work today meant an escape from my house. I was careful not to run into Mom, not needing another confrontation. It wouldn’t be like this forever. I just needed to figure out my next move and where I could go.

  Even now, the clock mocked me with the eventuality of needing to return.

  The building had grown cold, the streets outside matching as the morning dew iced over, just to melt under the afternoon sun. I’d asked the librarian to turn up the thermostat, but she huffed, stating it was too early in the year and far too expensive since it was nothing that a simple coat couldn’t handle. She was wrong, though. The frigid air was seeping through the cotton of my jacket without much resistance, sending deep shivers to my spine. At this rate, I’d get sick and have to take precious time off, time I both couldn’t afford and didn’t want to miss.

  I was in a vicious cycle, speeding up my pace to keep warm, just to slow myself again, so I didn’t have to leave early. I’d been more productive in this short shift than any of my longer, eight-hour ones, ensuring I found enough things to keep my thoughts single focused. The building was as empty as ever, the traffic naturally dying down during this time of year. It was no secret the library had a stingy keeper and would be one of the coldest places in town, despite winters occasionally hitting sub-zero. Ms. Jasmine had her quirks, but she’d always been tolerant of me, which allowed me to make some type of money in this town.

  Still, I appreciated the drop-offs being more consistent than usual today. Every time the metal book slot squealed upfront, echoing past several shelves and alerting me, I’d race to grab them before Ms. Jasmine could stack them up for another day. Unfortunately, as it drew closer to my scheduled leave, I worried it wouldn’t matter how many tasks I could discover needed to be done. I’d probably be forced out against my will. I sighed and housed the last book on my cart, contemplating how hard it would be to hide out here until closing time.

  I looked up at the clock, staring for a few moments when the time suddenly became challenging to tell. After a good thirty seconds, I realized the hands had stopped moving, freezing it at three thirty-three. I wondered how long it had been since the batteries were swapped in the old thing, unsure if it stopped working today or a month ago. If the light bill was any indication of the expenses this place was willing to take on, I didn’t have much hope that the clock would be functional again any time soon.

  I pulled my phone out, dreading the influx of notifications but needing to see precisely how long I had to come up with a plan B. I held the power button, but the screen remained black. I whacked it against my palm, surprised when it did the trick. The device sprang to life, but as the system reset itself and a picture I once loved of Noah came into focus, it now seemed bleak with the betrayal still raging in me. The time stayed fuzzy, glitching every time I looked. I rubbed it against the sleeve of my jacket as if it was nothing more than a smear, but nothing seemed to be effective. Maybe it had been broken? It was older, but there were no telling signs it would need to be replaced, or I would have started saving.

  A door slammed behind me, leading to the video room. I swung around, confident Ms. Jasmine and I were the only ones in the building. I looked toward the front, having to peek around the corner to get a visual on the checkout desk, to see if she’d heard the door too. She sat at the counter, hunched over slightly with little white earphones plugged into her head. The phone she was holding was hidden behind the dark wood but reflected off the frame of her round glasses.

  I moved around the cart and looked down the aisle. The door that had shut was about fifty feet away and for employees only. No one would be able to enter without an access card, but that reasoning didn’t seem sound when I knew for sure that was where the sound had come from. I deliberated about asking Ms. Jasmine for help but immediately figured better of it. I knew if she was engrossed in one of her soap operas, I would get a never-ending earful for interrupting the show.

  I maneuvered the cart over to the side, parking it in the open path just outside the shelves, and made my way toward the back room. The lights were dimmer, not pulling as much energy as the front was, creating shadows against the walls. I wiggled the silver knob to the door, expecting it to be unlocked, but it didn’t budge. I could hear rustling through the door, but as soon as I pressed my ear against it, it grew as silent as prey camouflaging from a predator.

  Someone was definitely in there.

  I removed my key card from my jeans�
�� back pocket and slid it through the magnetic reader. Green illuminated a little round bulb on the access box, followed by the lock’s disengaging soft click. I pushed the door open to expose the jam-packed storage room, cast in low yellow lighting. It was a decent-sized room, probably spacer than it looked if things were organized, but instead, it looked like a dumping ground for junk. Tapes were stacked against the back wall on an old folding table. DVDs no longer in demand were piled high into a bin, while another corner had damaged books in a self-made tower.

  I’d never actually been in here, only having access because the same reader was located at the back door to the building. I knew from watching Ms. Jasmine come in and out that we were storing items in here. I just had no clue the extent of the clutter. I made a mental note to ask her about donating some of it and tossing the rest. If I’d thought busting through the door to catch a thief red-handed like a heroine in a movie was in my fate, I was sorely mistaken. Other than the jumbled boxes of crap, I was alone, but that wasn’t what was suddenly making me nervous.

  No, what struck me as odd was the low humming of the microfilm reader that was pressed up against the wall farthest from the door, warming up as if it had just been plugged in a moment before. In all honesty, I didn’t even know the archaic machine worked, always thinking it was just something that had been phased out but viewed as too expensive to get rid of. No one had ever asked to use it, and I’d never seen or heard Ms. Jasmine mention it, other than to gripe about having to hire someone to combine the reels into a digital format. Just like everything else in here, it was wheeled back to be forgotten and die.

  I stepped into the room and propped the door open, so I could unplug it, worried it was a fire hazard to leave alone. A piece of paper crunched under my foot. When I picked it up, the page was blank, but I noticed it was in front of a long trail of newspapers leading to the filing cabinets. One of the drawers had been pulled open, and a single, bright yellow file peeked out just enough to tell it had been tampered with. A quick scan told me it was a record of the boxes containing film. I opened the file, C-102, but it was empty. To the right of the cabinets, stuffed in a corner dustier than the other three, were the white boxes containing the reels. Each one had an identifier, and right in the middle was the one that matched the empty file I was still holding.