I take my time packing up my books, flipping open the pages to see his comments over and over. Witty, a little flirty, cute. The banter would have filled my stomach with butterflies if it had been written the normal way, on a note passed furtively between hands, or maybe as a text. Like this though, it’s somewhere between eerie and fascinating.
“Becka?” My name, spoken woodenly, sends the sound of shattering glass into my ears and the smell of pooling blood into my nostrils. My stomach tightens into a cold knot.
“Derrick.” I can’t make myself turn to face him. Fear races up and down my muscles, tightening them until my body is so rigid I think I might snap. I take a deep breath. Derrick is only a boy. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I let the breath empty into my arms, breathing it into my muscles, trying to cleanse the irrational fear from my body.
Oblivious to my reaction, Derrick goes on. “Can we talk? Just for a minute. I feel terrible.” His voice trembles and breaks slightly on the last word.
It takes a huge effort to turn and look at him. I have to wrestle my body into moving. Derrick is standing about five feet way away, his right arm held in a rigid cast that encases it in a permanent bend away from his body. His face is covered in dark purple bruising and fading scratches are painted on his neck. The rest of his wounds, whatever they are, are covered by his clothing. I stare. In all the misery of the last few weeks, I’ve never once asked how he was. I think someone, my father maybe, had told me he was alright. Honestly, he didn’t look alright. He looks a lot worse off than I am, my bruises are almost healed. But how is that possible? I was the one that bled to death on the asphalt road in the middle of the night.
His eyes are full of pain and for a split second pity wells inside me, drowning out my resentment. “Becka, I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. You have to forgive me,” he pleads.
I nod, even as a strange roaring fills my ears. It’s a rushing sound, like a jet engine revving close by, or is it wind whistling through a car window? My head swims and for the first time, the feeling of disorientation that the doctors warned me about threatens to overwhelm me. “Forgive you?” I state flatly, the words thick on my tongue. Memories come welling up from the deep dark places inside my addled brain. I hear the ear splitting squeal of brakes and they go on forever as the swerve of the car presses me sharply into the side of the car, moulding me onto the metal like modelling clay. The door gives way and there’s a crazy, weightless, empty feeling of falling through the air. Then there’s hazy whiteness streaming around me.
A great distance away Derrick is looking at me with cool dark eyes, and grim satisfaction. I blink, trying to come to the surface of my memories. Derrick is still in front of me, eyes pleading for forgiveness, the image of remorse. He is still waiting for my answer. I open my mouth to tell him to stay the hell away from me, to take his forgiveness and shove it, that he almost killed me, and then the smells begin; burning and blood, rubber and oil. The whole world starts to go hazy around the edges. I lurch away from him without a word, gasping for clear air. Beyond the roaring in my ears, the sounds of breaking glass and my own ragged breath is another sound, sharp and cold; laughter.
By the time I make it to the cafeteria it’s jam packed. Our usual table, near the large bay windows on the far side of the room, is crowded except for one seat between Mandy and Justin. Matt smiles a warm hello from across the table and Mandy begins a speech on the difficulties of holding spots. Piper, all straight blond hair, small eyes and thinness nods in my direction. It is the same curt nod my mother uses. Paige, easily the richest and most fashionable girl in school doesn’t bother to acknowledge me, but Mandy’s other friends wave, nod or smile greetings at me. Mandy, Matt and even Justin belong at this table more than I do. Mandy is friendly and her parents are beyond rich, Matt was chiselled and athletic, Justin is, well, Justin. Everyone likes him; it’s just something about him. I sigh and Justin bumps his shoulder sympathetically against mine.
* * *
Tuesdays have always been long days for me. Matt, Justin and Mandy all have after school activities. Matt’s at football practice, Justice has swim team and Mandy is organizing something or other, maybe a dance. As part of my sidekick duties I usually rotate between them. One week I cheer on Matt, the next Justin. I’ve sort of lost track of where I was in the rotation. I prefer to sit in the bleachers of the pool. It’s warm, well lit and relaxing. On the other hand the football practice tends to be a lot more exciting, plus it means a lot to Matt that I came out to watch him since his family never does.
I hesitate on the back steps of the school, football field or swim complex? “Becka!” Matt calls excitedly from across the green. He jogs up to me, already in full gear, “Ready to cheer me on? I’ve been really off my game all month without my number one fan!”
I laugh. “It must have been very inconvenient for you, my whole hospital stay, near death thing.”
He grins down at me. “And don’t you forget it. You may have to start coming to practice twice a week, to make up the difference.”
The practice starts with warm ups then they move on to drills. From what I can see Matt wasn’t kidding; he really is off his game. He’s clunky and uncoordinated, fumbling the ball on easy passes. He’s usually so athletic. I lean closer, trying to see what Matt’s doing differently today. A spot of light makes me turn my head, but when I look nothing’s there. I focus on the game, and Matt’s strangely out of sync playing. The ball keeps slipping through his fingers. I’ve never seen him make so many fumbles. Another spark of light catches my eye and another. I am trying to concentrate but flashes of light off the center of my vision kept making me jump and turn my head. What am I seeing?
I try to ignore the flickering but that just makes me jittery. The more I try to just watch Matt, the more I want to turn my head and get a really good look at whatever it is. A bright flash of movement blurs to my right, and I jerk my head, trying to track it. It’s moving toward the woods.
I stand slowly and stroll along the sidelines of the field, edging toward the woods. Matt gives me a questioning glance but Couch T barks a play at him and he returns to the practice. Now that I’m moving the shimmers at the edge of my eyesight are almost continuous. It’s like looking at a photograph of traffic where the tail lights merge into streaks of wavy color. I’m following something like that, a streak of movement and color I can’t quite resolve.
Sunlight shining through the leaves produces a dappled light that shifts with the breeze and plays over the forest floor. It should be inviting and pretty but the moment I step off the field and into the cover of the trees I feel a gloomy coolness close in around me. My stomach tightens and goose bumps stand out on my arms as I take another step forward. My instincts warn me to turn around and get out of here. I want to run but something is tugging me forward. A swirl of amethyst light spins in front of me, twisting around my body and leaving tendrils curling around my right arm and leg. Another tendril of ruby light rises off the ground, curving around the first. They twine around my body like snakes constricting their prey. And the tighter they coil, the more terror rushes through my body. I can’t fight. I can’t run. I’m frozen in place, helpless as they slither over me.
A cold so deep it makes my skin burn seeps out of the creatures. I feel them pressing in on my, getting ever closer. I’m passing out; the world gets dimmer and more distant every second. And I’m cold. A terrible, arctic cold is numbing me, freezing me to the spot. Frost crystalizes on the ground before my feet and creeps up my legs. What will happen when my whole body is covered in it? Will I freeze to death? The hairs in my nose freeze and my breath comes out in frantic, icy puffs.
Becks! Did someone call me? An image wavers at the edge of the woods. I want so much to turn and see the boy from the whiteness, the boy from my dreams, standing there. I want him to help me wake up from this nightmare. The amber energy reaches my throat and begins squeezing and squeezing. The world gets darker. Becks! No!
A powe
rful blast of wind blows through the clearing, tearing the bright tendrils away from me and scattering them. A burst of sunlight breaks through the canopy. The light laps over me, thawing the frost around my feet. “Becka!” Matt’s voice calls out. “Becka what are you doing here in the woods by yourself? Are you alright?”
There’s a pause, in which I struggle to answer but only a gurgling sound comes out of my lips. I’m still rigid with fear and cold.
A hand wraps around mine and pulls me away. “Becka? Are you alright? You’re safe with me. We’re at school. Do you remember?” Matt leads me out of the woods. I walk next to him mechanically and with every step we take, I feel a little better.
The next thing I know Matt is leading away from the football field. Still in his football uniform he helps me into his car, buckles my seat belt and starts the car. He turns the heat up, setting the blower to full, blasting hot air right onto my face. Slowly, the numbness drops away and I shake myself out of the daze. “Feeling better?” Matt asks when I look around and met his eyes.
I nod, grateful it’s Matt and not Justin right now. Matt will assumed I’ve had another flashback, he certainly saw enough of them those first few weeks in the hospital, but Justin would have wanted to talk about it. I hated that even when it was a real flashback, but this time I don’t know what happened. All I’m really sure of is that something strange, something unnatural, attacked me. I can’t exactly tell that to Matt.
Matt lets the car idle in front of my house. “I don’t think you should be alone too much right now,” he says.
“It’s okay. My mom will be home soon, until then I’ve got Buick. I’ll be fine, really Matt. Thanks for the lift and the rescue.”
He nods. “Just call me if there’s anything you need,” he says, sounding more serious than I’ve ever heard him before.
I give him a non-committal smile. There’s plenty I want to talk about; like the fact that something just tried to slither inside me, or that I’m communicating with a disembodied spirit. But neither of these things are exactly Matt’s area of expertise.
I drop my bag by the front door, ruffle Buick’s ears and headed straight for the shower. Waiting for steam to fill the room, I perch on the edge of the counter. As soon as the mirror has droplets on it, I trace the words that have been on my mind since the accident, “Who are you? What are you?”
There is a short pause, but I feel him close by, A friend, he writes at last.
“But what are you? Where are you?”
I’m here with you. The steam fills in before I can demand more answers. I care about you.
Which only confuses me more. In my dreams I am drawn to him on an elemental level, like every part of me is pulling towards him. In the real world his messages fill me with eagerness, interest, and curiosity. I want him to care about me and that scares me. I didn’t even know what he is. “I need to know,” I say aloud.
Tonight, he writes. And then, even though the hot water is still running, the steam in the bathroom clears.
* * *
We are standing on the crest of a rolling green mountain. Below us wild grasses sway. The mountain air carries the sweet smell of wildflowers mixed with a sharp, cool crispness. In the distance, a chain of mountains all shaded in muted purples, blues and greens stretch into the horizon. From this height the mountains look as soft as velvet except where they are dotted with the bristles of small fir trees. The clouds moving overhead create a patchwork of light and shadow, bright and dim over the mountains. Everything in this place seems sharply vivid. I sense his nearness and, tearing my gaze away from the view, I met his bright eyes. The breeze is playing with his hair, mussing it. He’s wearing a dark button down shirt and pants which the wind catches, sending them clutching against his body. I can see muscles and a firm waist outlined against his clothes. I look down at my own clothes and realize I am only in my thin green pyjama set. I shiver, goose bumps appearing on my arms as soon as I realize how flimsy my clothing is.
He takes my hand. The instant our fingers touched I feel a sun warmed peace. My shivering stops. “Good evening Becks.”
“This place is amazing,” I whisper, “Where are we?”
“These are the Precious Lands,” He says, sweeping his free arm wide. His voice is reverent as he speaks and his eyes are far away.
His answer tells me nothing, “But where are we? Are we in a dream or is this a real place?”
He smiles at me and I feel the floating calm of dreaming wrap around me. “You’re very curious. I like that. This is a real place. In your terms, this land exists somewhere between Washington and Oregon. It’s one of the few places that still exist in both our worlds. The barrier between worlds is thinnest in the purest of places. In your world the perfection of the ethereal plane creates a paradise. In the ethereal world, the colours, the sounds, the details are beyond description. These between places allow us to be with each other effortlessly.”
“Washington and Oregon?” I repeat numbly. Looking at him, it’s hard to concentrate. The sense of blissful contentedness that makes questions seem irrelevant is slowly filling me. The mountains, his warm touch, the sweet sound of his voice, are breaking up into beautiful sensations without meaning.
He squeezes my hand lightly, “Becks, it’s hard to think clearly in a dream. Your mind fades so quickly into emotion and sensation, but it’s the only way we can talk right now.”
I shake my head, trying to focus my attention on him, as if I am nodding off in class. I take a step away from his warmth, slipping my fingers out of his as I do so. Immediately, the world becomes paler and indistinct, more like an impression than a real place.
He continues speaking, “You remember when we met?” I nod, “I saw you in the Ether. That’s the white place between worlds, between life and death, my home. You were so alive, so bright and vivid. I’ve never experienced anything like you before. You were sparkling with life and energy, you still are. But it was flowing away from you so quickly…” His voice grows softer as he speaks so I have to lean closer to hear the last words. His face is bleak as he turns to me.
“You brought me back to life?” I guess. I can’t quite understand the grief in his eyes. I am alive and he saved me. How could that be bad?
“Becks,” he says imploringly, “you weren’t near death. You were dead. I couldn’t just send you back, there was no way. I did the only thing I could think of to save you; I gave you my life energy.” His voice cracks. He clears his throat, murmuring the last words, “I’m sorry.”
Nervous, I half laugh, “it’s okay. You saved me. Thank you.” Released from his gaze and no longer touching him the mountain air is sending chills down my body. Trembling with cold, I reach out to him. He looks up, startled, when my hand touches his arm. “You were going to tell me your name?”
“You’re not angry?” he seems incredulous.
“Why would I be?” I ask lightly, without giving it any thought. I have a lot left to live for. There is nothing that would make death from a traffic accident better than the alternative.
“Because we’re bound together now. I can’t ever be apart from you and you can’t ever be apart from me. We’re one. I wish I could have asked you, given you a choice.”
Some distant part of me registers the implications of what he is saying but most of me is basking in his beauty and warmth and earnest goodness. I give him a little shove, “You think I’d rather be dead?”
He looks at me with amazement, a tiny curve tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I guess not.”
“Definitely not! Lifelong haunting by gorgeous hero beats out brains splattered on concrete any day. So what do I call you?”
He smiles a warm, soft smile that makes my knees weak and my stomach squeeze in the best possible way. “Ephraim.” The dream goes on into beautiful valleys and flowering plateaus. We see crystalline rivers and shy animals but the vivid clarity of our conversation is gone. Anything he might have said after his name was lost in the perfect joy of the d
ream.
* * *
I wake with his name on my lips, Ephraim. My personal spectre’s name is Ephraim. I lay in bed relishing my dream of him until my alarm clock goes off for the third time. I groan and haul myself out of bed, but the smile never leaves my lips. I hold onto the euphoria all through my morning rituals and down to breakfast.
My mom, perfectly made up and dressed in a sharp black suit, smiles when I twirl into the room. “Two cheerful days in a row Rebecca?” she says, but her tone is gentler than usual. For once I recognize an emotion on her face, it was the same look she had when the school granted me a bursary; relief. Has it really been so long since I’ve been happy?
I shoot her a jovial grin, “and why shouldn’t I be? I’m on the mend, catching up in school, I’ve got great friends and a Mom who’s so cool she’s going to lend me the credit card for some shopping today?”
She pulls her small black wallet out of her purse and makes a show of slowly handing me her card, “I hope I don’t have to remind you about responsible choices,” she says as she hands out the card to me.
With exceptionally bad timing Matt honks loudly in the driveway. My mom’s eyebrow lifts and she frowns but I just kiss her and wish her a nice day before darting out.
Matt has the music cranked up to ear splitting, totally inappropriate morning volumes. “Morning Becka.” Matt’s car is my personal oasis from conversation. He turns the volume down a notch. “Doing alright?” he asks, looking at me sideways as he drives. “Seems like you had a tough time yesterday.”
“It’s been a little rough but I’m okay.”
“If you need anything-”
“I know,” I say quickly. And I do know. Matt is like an older brother, always stepping between me and the world. He gives me one quick glance and then jacks up the volume again before making the turn onto Justin’s street.
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