I sat on my bed, trying to take slow deep breaths. Every time I started to calm down, I would remember that Helen was gone. I had no one to ask anymore, no matter how unreliable. I had to think of something else.
The visitor at my window!
I never identified the cold girl. I had thought to begin with, that it was Kate, but she couldn't be possessing Grace and haunting me at the same time. So it must be someone else. Maybe someone who knew something even if she wasn’t part of the Pattern.
I shivered. I found the pathetic figure, who begged to be let in, repulsive on a level I could not explain. But I was out of options; I decided on a plan and gathered what I would need.
Half an hour later, I looked dubiously at my 'ghost trap'. It wasn't encouraging. I'd drawn my curtains back and opened the window ready. A single pillar candle stood next to a box of matches on my bedside table. On my desk was the remainder of the jar of honey and a teaspoon. I had a spoonful earlier as a precaution. It had tasted so revoltingly sweet that I probably didn't need it. It only seemed to taste good when I was already depleted. Maybe I should find it encouraging that my squabble with Helen hadn't drained me. I had layered several baggy sweatshirts over each other, against the cold that always came with the Dead. I nestled down in them to wait.
As it grew darker, I lit the candle. I was surprised that Amy hadn't come looking for me but I didn't question it too much. I was running out of explanations. I let my mind drift and several pieces of the puzzle snapped together as if they'd been waiting for me to see them. My attic was protected. It had something to do with the scent of rosemary and violets. In other words, Mum was helping. Maybe she had been from the start. The book didn't fit in with the Pattern. It was a clue though. Mum's clue. She was the one who put the book out each time - before it went missing anyway. It all fit. It was Mum's book after all. I should have made the connection earlier. Frustration welled up and lodged in my throat. I still couldn't cry or get properly angry. Had I had a single honest emotion since Mum died? I had just pushed everything away, stacking my feelings up like logs.
No worse, like crates of toxic waste or barrels of gunpowder. Then I'd coated myself with a cotton-wool layer of numbness. I'd thought I was dealing with everything so well. Idiot! I should have been fighting not accepting. If I hadn't just accepted the doctors' diagnosis, then I might have been able to read in time to get Mum's clue. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Mum used to say that. I ground my teeth.
Calm. Deep breath. Might be a long wait and I might not get another chance to question the cold girl. Breathe, deep and even. I had thinking time, waiting for my guest. So for the first time since the accident, I pulled down the barriers in my mind and looked back. Back at that awful day.
"It didn't." I slam the car door. Amy gets into the passenger seat behind me, quiet and wide-eyed.
"Emlynn, it wasn't that bad. And even if you don't place, there are all those other contests and auditions you're signed up for." Mum's tone is reasonable, which just makes me angrier.
"Has it occurred to you that maybe I'm not cut out for this? Maybe I'm just not any good?"
"Emlynn-"
"Well has it? You saw what happened in there. I crashed and burned. Big time. The judges were laughing at me."
"Emlynn they weren't laughing. You didn't even stay to hear the results."
"Fine they were bored stiff then. That's even better." In the backseat Amy barely makes a sound, as though she is holding her breath. Shame writhes in my stomach. I hate appearing less than in control and together when Amy is around.
Mum taps her fingers on the steering wheel. Takes two deep breaths. Rubs her right temple as if it's aching.
"Emlynn you're being ridiculous. That's the first time you've ever performed under such pressure. You did well. They placed you fourth. You didn't get this audition but fourth at your age is still a big deal."
"Mum, you don't get it. I huh hated it!" Now I'd started to stammer again. I'd stammered as a child but I'd mostly grown out of it. It only came back now when I was upset or angry. Of course the fact I was stammering made me even angrier. "I kuh can't play in fr-front of people. I kuh can't cope!"
I stare out of the window at the blurry scenery. Nothing matters. It's all meaningless jumble. All pointless. I'd been stupid to let Mum talk me into this. Stupid to think I had a shot at being a concert pianist or even at studying music. Tears well up, hot and humiliating, blurring the rushing landscape further.
I hear Mum sigh. The atmosphere in the car is heavy, oppressive. Somewhere between thunder and fog. We lapse into silence. I know that when I've sorted through all the anger and embarrassment and resentment all I'll be left with is guilt over how I've acted. Which, let's face it, is like a complete prima donna. I try to resist this by holding on to my anger but it's already slipping away.
"This isn't right." Mum's voice is strange, despairing. "This isn't how it's supposed to be…."
"Wuh what do you mean? Mum? Mum!" Terror spreads wings in my chest at the expression on her face. Blank, unfocused. It's eerie. Like it isn't Mum talking at all.
"Emlynn? What's happening?" Amy's voice is pinched and high with fright. She is leaning around my seat to peer at mum.
"Amy p-p-put your seat belt back on!" My voice comes out low and urgent.
Something is going to happen.
"But…"
"Just do it!"
I hear the snap of her seatbelt buckle slotting back into place. I can't look. I'm focused entirely on mum's face. Her eyes are wide and blank. I could swear that her right eye looks bigger…My gaze hits the speedometer. The red needle inches past eighty, faster…Mum just sits there, gripping the steering wheel, oblivious.
I held my head with my good hand, remembering the moment I knew we were going to go off the road. The screaming tunnel of noise and pain and silence. Looking at Mum dangling beside me, a dark mirror of myself. Mum's dead, empty eyes and the blood that had trickled from her face into our tangled hair. I remembered starting to scream. I hadn't been able to turn and check on Amy. I was out of my mind by that point.
I didn't know how long I hung there like the last apple on a tree, crying for help and screaming whenever I caught sight of Mum's dead face. It felt like days. They said it was around an hours. All I know is that ice-ages can slip past unseen in the seconds we spend in hell.
I'd worn my voice out by the time someone found the car. The sight of a silhouette in the dusk outside had made me scream again, but weakly. Like a newborn kitten. My throat was so damaged that I wouldn't be able to talk properly for a week, while it healed. After that, of course, I hadn't wanted to talk to anyone. Even Amy. Only talk of psychiatric wards finally prompted me to speak again.
There was one last memory I'd been flinching away from. I forced myself to look at it.
I greyed out while the rescue services discussed getting us out of the car. They took Amy first as she was still unconscious. I was beyond reason at that point. Everything was muddled in my head, and I squirmed and struggled making animal noises to warn these predators off. I had to protect the contents of this twisted tin can, one dead, one barely breathing, one kicking mad. I failed - —they took Amy - —but they weren't going to take Mum.
It had looked like a dragon's head. Wide, sharp metal jaws chomping through the metal like paper through a shredder. I'd thrashed as it came at me again and again, tearing chunks from the side of the car. The hole was widened and then arms caught and held me. It wasn't Mum they wanted after all. It was me. I went limp with failure. The last thing I saw was Mum hanging there, limp and blue-white, before I was torn away by the Jaws of Life.
I jerked myself out of my dark memories. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. Nothing. No visitor. Not even a drop in temperature, though the open window let a cold night breeze blow through. I didn't understand. Where was she? Did I have to send a gold embossed invitation? I could barely keep her out before. She couldn’t really be gone; that would mean all my
sources of information had dried up. No!
I ran to the window and leaned out. "H-Hello? Are you th-there? C-come back? Puh Please! Please, come in! I'm s-sorry I turned you away. C-come back!"
Nothing. No pale star-fish hands. No wail of despair. I'd used so much energy sending the ghost away last time I saw her that I'd knocked myself out. Now I'd almost be happy to let someone re-break my left arm, if she would just come back, at least long enough to give me answers. I didn't know what was making the noise until the pain in my throat tipped me off. I was laughing in great hysterical rasping whoops. The kind of laughter that isn't laughter at all, but something your body does when you cannot cry. I slumped on the window seat, defeated. Pulling a fleece throw around me, I lay down to wait. I wouldn't sleep. I would wait, just in case.
I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1) Page 52