by Tara Taylor
I turned to gaze up at him, and without saying a word, he kissed me. Passionately. My lips burned with the intensity. My skin ignited with his touch, and I pressed my body to his. He moaned and moved closer to me, wrapping his arms around me, his hands moving all across my body, his hard skin pressing into me. I had felt John this way before, but today … something was different. My body reacted like it never had before, and I wanted more from him. I’m not sure if it was the storm or the roller coaster of emotions following Nathan’s death—or perhaps a combination—but I felt so vulnerable and open and needy. I wanted to be as close to him as I possibly could, to forget who I was and just be a part of him. I ran my hands up and down his back, touching his body with my fingertips. Then I touched his neck just to feel his skin against mine. He kissed me with fervor, on the lips, neck, and upper chest. And I allowed this. I wanted him to kiss me everywhere.
One thing led to another.
And another.
We lay together under a blanket, limbs intertwined. I was blissful and happy, and I felt so secure. He held me tightly, kissed me tenderly, and I molded into him. Warm sensations flowed through me. This was love. It had to be. There was no other word for it.
With every breath and every beat of his heart, I felt content. I laid my head on his bare chest and curled into a small ball beside him. I wanted him to protect me from the world, from the thin veil that I sometimes seemed to go through. With John, perhaps I could belong to the outside world and stay away from my visions and that other life of mine. What I felt with him was so powerful that it took away all my worried thoughts, visions, sensations. I wanted to stay where we were forever, in a darkened basement, during an ice storm, just him and me. Then I could forget about everything around me and who I really was. John had done something that no one yet had been able to: he had made me live in the moment and forget about the past and future.
The ice storm continued all afternoon and into the evening, and John had to sleep over, because there was no way he could get home. When I crawled into bed that night, I smiled happily, knowing that he was in my house, in my basement. I didn’t need to cover my head with blankets.
The freezing rain created chaos, continuing for more days than the weather reporters had originally thought. Three big storms—instead of the predicted one—hit the Ottawa area. The rain kept falling and freezing, and the weight of that beautiful ice destroyed so many things. Amazing trees, some of them huge maples, were split in half, their trunks looking like they’d been severed with a saw. Telephone wires hung so low they hit the ground, and telephone poles, instead of standing straight, leaned at angles as low as 45 degrees. Hydro poles crumpled and bent with the strain of the collected ice; they looked like broken toys. The power went out in many homes, including my grandparents’ in the country, where we had just been for Christmas. My parents were freaked with worry until they found out that my grandparents had a generator that they could use for power. I had never been in any kind of storm like this before, and although it was a disaster, I liked how people pulled together to help one another. Schools set up shelters for those in the country who were without power. Neighbors stayed together to share generators. The storm became a national disaster, and the Canadian army was called in to clean up the mess that had been created.
There was another upside, too. Every day that the announcers came on the radio saying school was closed for yet another day meant one more day John and I could spend together. He slept in the basement for the next few nights, because trying to get home was next to impossible. We talked, we laughed, and we shared thoughts. We had no homework to do, no activities; Christmas was over, and neither of us worked. During the nights that he wasn’t sleeping at my house, I was thinking about him. I couldn’t stop my thoughts. John filled every single one—and they were all happy thoughts, because I was in love. I actually liked how the world seemed to stand still during the storm, because it gave me the time to be close to John without any distractions.
The ice storm consumed everyone’s thoughts in Ottawa and surrounding area, even as far east as Montreal. But John consumed mine. Every once in a while, I wondered what life was going to be like after the storm finally subsided and we were back at school. Would Amber continue to hit on him? Because I knew that was what she was doing. Would Lacey continue to ignore me? Would my visions start again? Would John find out about me?
On Friday, we were still not back at school. John and I were home alone, curled up on the sofa downstairs. He rubbed a strand of my hair between his fingers. “It would be so great if school were canceled for the rest of the year. Then I could spend all my time with you.”
“That would be so amazing,” I said. “I wonder if we have to go back on Monday. I’m pretty sure we will.”
“I bet we do. I heard the storm is supposed to stop this weekend.” He paused. “But being like this, with you every day, has made me think. Next year,” he said slowly, “let’s move to England and live together.”
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” I turned to face him.
“I want to be with you next year,” he said, touching my cheek. “Being together all week has made me realize I want to be with you forever.”
Forever! Was I hearing right? It was all I wanted, too. I rested my head on his chest. England would be so romantic, and it was a place I’d always wanted to go.
“We could visit Scotland and Ireland, too,” I said, excitement in my voice.
“I can’t imagine life without you, Indie.” John stroked my cheek.
“Me either,” I said. I took his hand and kissed his finger. “I wouldn’t want to be alive if you weren’t in my life.” I paused. Then I said, “Let’s do it, John. Let’s really do it. It would be so magical.”
A twinge of something unpleasant ran through me, but I pushed it aside. Nothing or nobody could tell me that this wasn’t the right thing to do. It was right. It had to be, because everything was right when you were in love.
He smiled at me. “Okay,” he said, “we’ll do it.” He paused for a second and just stared at me, and the look in his eyes was so intense that I thought I would melt right in his arms. I felt as if I were being sucked into his body. My heart raced. My blood flowed. Something big was on the tip of his tongue.
I waited for him to speak. After a few seconds, he whispered, “I love you.”
The shock of the words rippled through my body. I let the feeling flow, and it warmed me completely. Then I softly replied, “I love you, too.”
Part Three
Chapter
Seventeen
March 1998
I was running with John along a beach and then Lacey was running beside us. But she stopped and started choking, because the necklace was too tight. She clutched her chest and fell. John started to do CPR on her. Then Lacey became Burke, and John still did CPR, but Burke looked as if he weren’t breathing. I just stood there doing nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
I woke up in a pool of sweat, my breath coming out in short gasps. I put my hands to my chest and tried to slow my breathing down. This was the sixth time I’d had that dream in a month. The last two had only been days apart.
I looked at the calendar sitting on my desk. Burke. It was all about Burke again. Week after week had passed, and every time I got close to talking to Lacey, I felt as if my tongue had been chopped off. I was so afraid of what would happen if people found out. If John found out.
He was all that mattered. I’d even quit the band to spend more time with him.
And as each day passed and nothing happened to Burke, I kept asking myself, why should I say anything? Nothing was happening. So what if I didn’t say anything and nothing happened?
You have to tell Lacey, Indie.
“Shut up!” Who was he? The soft voice who came to me over and over again? And now I was being haunted by dreams, too. I wasn’t sure how much more I could stand.
“I can’t tell her,” I said out loud to myself as I picked up an old teddy bear stuffy
that I’d had for years on my bed and pressed it against my chest. “I just can’t, okay? Nothing has happened, so maybe nothing will happen. I can’t just wreck my life because something might happen.”
I flopped back on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
You have to tell her NOW.
I immediately sat up again when I heard the word now, because this was the same man who had warned me about the woman in the car on Christmas Day.
“Who are you?” I whispered. My body started trembling.
NOW!
I jumped out of bed and threw on the jeans that were crumpled on the floor, my hands shaking as I tugged up the zipper. Then I put on a sweater, ran a brush through my hair, and headed to the washroom. I wasn’t sure what I was doing or why I was moving the way I was, but I had to go. Without eating breakfast, I snatched my coat off the hook, and as I ran out the door, I yelled at my mom that I was going to school early. I heard her calling after me, but I didn’t stop to listen to what she had to say.
Drab, dreary slush covered much of the sidewalk and soaked my feet through my sneakers as I ran. My nerves felt like they were on the outside of my body. Why was I doing this? My feet were moving, my body following, and I couldn’t stop.
Stop. Stop. I tried to talk to my body, but it just kept moving. Since the dreams had started a month ago, all this had been building. And now here I was, on some mission that I didn’t understand. In my head, I prepared a speech. It had to come out right. I could never live with myself if something happened to Burke and I’d said nothing.
The voice. He had yelled at me.
By now I was at my bus stop. I lowered my head and stared at my wet feet. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. If I’d ignored the voice at Christmas, the woman would have died. He had been really urgent this time, too. He never talked to me like that unless it was important.
Or perhaps he was just tired of me stalling?
No. I didn’t believe that for a second. In a daze I caught my bus.
I was at my locker, still going over my speech in my head while pulling out my books, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I nearly had a heart attack.
“Scared you good.” John stood behind me, his warm breath steaming my neck. The smell of fresh soap hit my nostrils.
I turned and looked up at him, staring into his eyes. Then he did something he’d never done before: he kissed me in the hallway. I kissed him back—like, really kissed him. When it was over, he immediately stepped back and looked up and down the hall.
“You hate PDA,” I said.
He shrugged. “I had to do it,” he said softly. “It’s Monday, and I just had to kiss you.”
“Meet me for lunch under the tree outside,” I said.
He held up his thumb as he walked backward. Then he turned and headed to his class. I stayed at my locker. My heart pounded.
Forget about him, Indie. Concentrate on something else.
Where was Lacey? I stalled, pulling books out and putting them back until I saw her coming down the hall, late as usual. My heart picked up speed, raced like a ticking time bomb, and my legs felt like mush.
Indie, stay focused.
But you haven’t talked to her in months.
Stay focused.
“Lacey,” I said when she finally showed up at her locker.
She refused to look at me and instead spun the lock on the door. “That’s my name,” she answered.
On instinct, I reached out and touched her arm, like I would have done when we were friends. “I have to tell you something.” I rushed my words.
She didn’t answer.
“I had a vision.” I knew I was speaking fast, but finally the words were there and I had to let them go. “I think Burke is in trouble.” My words spewed from my mouth like an overflowing fountain. “It’s cold and loud and bright, and he crashes into something and hurts himself.”
Lacey gave me an incredulous look, then she burst out laughing. “Are you fricking kidding me? You’re the weirdest person I know.” Then she leaned forward, her eyes smoldering. “I kept the last one quiet, but this time, I’m telling the entire school.” She pulled out her books and shut her locker door.
“By the way,” she added, “I heard about Amber and John. Guess she wasn’t going for Burke after all.”
After she had stalked away, I just stood in the hall with my forehead pressed against my locker. After a few seconds, I straightened up and tried to take my books out for my first class, but my hands were trembling so much that I dropped them on the floor. When I picked them up, I saw Lacey’s necklace and it was knotted again. I had put it back in there so long ago. I shoved it into my pocket.
Suddenly I felt drained of energy. I had been so charged just an hour earlier, running to catch the bus and now … I felt as if I could crawl into a hole and die. Why had I said anything? Was she right about Amber and John? It wasn’t like she was going to help me now.
I looked up toward the ceiling. “How could you do this to me?” I whispered. “Why? How could you give me these visions? For what purpose?”
“Indie Russell. Time for class,” said Mr. Leonard as he walked by me.
I spent my entire first class working out the knots of the necklace. By the time the bell rang, it was untangled.
In between my first and second classes, as I walked down the hall, I was so clouded and muddled in thoughts about everything that was going wrong that I didn’t notice that I was close to Lacey and her pod of popular friends until it was too late to change directions. I lowered my head, hoping she wouldn’t see me.
Just when I was almost by the group, I heard one of them shout, “Hey, fortune teller! Am I going to be a big star?”
They all started laughing. My face grew hot, and my body shook.
“Look into your crystal ball. Woooooo,” another girl said, in a phony gypsy accent.
Just keep walking.
If I ran, I’d just encourage them.
When it was time for lunch, I was so relieved. Nothing more had been said to me. I headed outside to wait for John. The weather was crappy, cloudy, and gray, hovering just above freezing, so the snow was melting. I shivered under my light jacket. Why hadn’t I worn my winter coat? I hated this time of year and wanted it to be spring, so I’d worn my spring coat just because. I wanted sun and warm air, not cold, dirty slush.
Time passed. I glanced at my watch and tapped my foot. With every passing minute, my heart sped faster and faster and my stomach twirled. Something was wrong.
I waited for 15 minutes. Then I scooped up my backpack, flung it over my shoulders, and ran into the school. I had to find him. I sped to John’s locker. He wasn’t there.
I ran to the smoking area. Not there either. My heart thudded. Think, Indie, think. I sucked in air as fast as I could to keep up with my gasping breath.
“John, where are you?” I whispered.
Come on, Indie, think.
The library!
I raced down the hall, skidding as I rounded corners. And I didn’t slow, even when I got to the library. I barged in, looking, running through the aisles.
And then I saw him. He was at a table in the very back of the library. His legs were stretched out, and he was slouched in the chair, reading what looked like a paper of some sort.
I stopped. He looked exactly the way he had on the day, way back in September, when we were in the library together and had our first real conversation.
That day had been the beginning of us.
From the downward turn of his mouth, the dull look in his eyes, and the slumped body posture, I knew he’d heard. I’d told him repeatedly that I didn’t believe in Edgar Cayce, in people who had visions, and I’d made it perfectly clear that I didn’t agree with anything he thought about the spiritual dimension.
“John,” I said quietly.
He looked up and just stared at me.
“I waited for you,” I said. “Under the tree. Have you eaten lunch yet?”
“Let’s see. H
ave I eaten lunch?” His words were deliberate and slow. “Maybe you could have one of your visions and find out. Did I have egg salad or tuna, Indie?”
I stood frozen, afraid to even move a finger or breathe.
John narrowed his eyes. “You do have visions, don’t you, Indie?”
I swallowed.
“Are you going to answer me?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
Cynically, he raised his hands, palms up. “Yes, you’re going to answer me, or yes, you have visions?”
“I sometimes have visions,” I spoke slowly. “I’ve had them since I was young.”
He contorted his face into a scowl and shook his head. “All this time, you’ve lied to me. Out and out lied.” Then he mimicked me and said, “I don’t know about Edgar Cayce. I think he’s a quack. I don’t believe people can have visions. No one can do that.”
“I didn’t want you to know.” I choked out my words. “I didn’t want you not to like me.”
He frowned, his eyes almost slits. “And you think lying makes someone like you?”
“No.”
“Relationships are about trust. Trust, Indie.” He raised his voice, and I wanted to shrivel, curl into a small cocoon and forget the world around me. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry I found out? Or sorry you didn’t tell me? Which is it, Indie?”
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” I barely whispered.
“What visions have you had since we started going out?”
My throat clogged. The shovel, the locket—how was I going to tell him about those visions? They made no sense to me. Had the shovel just been a vision to tell me that my secrets couldn’t stay buried? That they would be dug up? What about the man in the locket? I tried to speak, but no words would come out. I was lost. Nothing made sense. Energy depleted, I just stood in front of him, speechless.
He glared at me, then stood, holding up his hands. “Forget it! I don’t want to know.” He picked up his books and stuffed them in his backpack.
“Okay, I’ll tell you,” I said.