by Lee Davidson
My fracturing heart needs a break as bad as Willow needs a hairbrush, so I couldn’t be happier to hear the buzzing of my calimeter. The packed house freezes to match the bodies inside the four boxes placed front-and-center in the fancy, burgundy and gold room.
“Displace,” I say weakly.
Between the numbness of my brain and the screaming pain of my muscles, I don’t notice the three glowing blurs who fly into the sky beside me, nor do I notice my landing or how long I’ve been parked on my horrendous sofa. I want to code more than anything, but can’t. I am too terrified of the freezing demon that keeps interrupting. More pain is not what I need right now.
I grab my bag and head out the door once I finally stop trembling, but a dull ache still accompanies even the smallest movement. I’m going to have to code again, and sooner rather than later.
Today is definitely one of those days I wish GPS Jeanette wasn’t so chipper in the elevator.
I walk as fast as my legs will let me, which turns out to be extremely slow, and cut a path straight to Willow. “Hey, can I talk to you?” I whisper after nodding hello to the others at the table.
“Sure. What’s up, kid?” she replies at full volume.
I bend closer to her ear. “Alone?”
Willow sighs before shrugging “whatever” and follows me. We sit in the far corner of Benson and I have to lean both arms on the table to keep my aching back upright.
“You look like rubbish.” If there’s one thing about Willow, she is eternally honest.
I keep my voice down. “I need your help with something.”
“Kid, you need my help with a lot of somethings.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” She doesn’t even crack a smile. Lord help me.
“I can’t code right,” spews from my mouth.
Oh sure, now she gets it. Her shock erases as fast as it came, though, and she twirls one of her braids like she’s bored.
“What do you know?” I accuse.
“Why would I know anything?”
“You look guilty.” She doesn’t, but it’s worth a shot. “Do you know something?”
“I know a lot of things. Like, for example, you’re wigging out right now.” Her stone expression doesn’t crack. “You’re assignment’s got your head screwed up, kid. It’s cool, happens all the time.”
Either she’ll get an Emmy for her acting or she’s right.
I relax and sink back into my chair. “I really need to code.” I shake my head. “Bad.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I explain to Willow what’s been happening: the freezing ice, the voice. She follows along without interruption—totally out of character—even when I go into detail about my white scars.
When I’m finally done, she says, “Where’d the scars come from?”
My hand instinctively reaches to my chest. “I don’t know.”
She clasps her hands together. “Well, keep trying. I’m sure it will get better.” She’s halfway across the room before I can even open my mouth.
“Willow!”
Just when I think she can’t get any less helpful, she hollers over her shoulder, “Good luck, kid.”
A few people gawk when I belt out a frustrated groan, but their attention turns to their calimeters just as mine beckons me back to purgatory. If there were a way to ditch, today would be the day.
Knowing Meggie needs me more now than ever, I displace and drop to Earth, landing smack inside one of the funeral spectators. I jump to the left to get out of the man’s body.
I unzip my bag and dig for Meggie’s book while the room powers back to life. Whitfield, Lawson, and Elliott, standing behind their Tragedies in the receiving line, are doing the same.
With an internal shudder, I deposit the heavy book into my bag and perform my first block of the day. Well, my day, anyway.
How Meggie and Brody are still standing is beyond me. How I’m still standing is beyond me. The unhappy couple moves through the living room like zombies, obediently swallowing the pills from Nancy, their sister-in-law, before settling on the sofa. They try talking, but have nothing to say and both succumb to sleep thirty minutes later. Their bodies are spooned together on the small sofa and Nancy covers them with a blanket before she and Ryan quietly pick up around the house and then tiptoe out.
“Have a great day, Elliott!” OK, I didn’t really say it, but I should have.
After about an hour of silence, Lawson and I have a Q and A session, which is really me asking him a lot of Q’s. Lawson confirms that this is one of his more difficult assignments. No surprise there; I can’t imagine anything much worse than this.
Lawson warns—after admitting he enjoyed Evelynn and Billy’s show in training—that neither of them are quick to forget. His advice: whatever I’m doing to keep them out of my head, I’d better keep at it. He gives me the ‘Lawson Guarantee’ that their retaliation won’t be pretty. I had already guessed as much.
The remainder of the night is quiet and my muscles welcome the break. I don’t move from my spot in the corner of the tiny living room until morning.
The steady patter of rain is relaxing until a crash of thunder makes me jump and wakes both Meggie and Brody. Lawson and I are up and blocking two minutes later, when reality roots itself into the childless couple like a weed. Nope, that wasn’t a dream you had, Miss Meggie. Good morning and welcome to your nightmare.
I follow Meggie while she wanders through the house trying to figure out what to do with herself.
When Ryan and Nancy come in an hour later, Elliott makes the tension between us more than a little uncomfortable, but it’s worth it to have Nancy here. Nancy helps Meggie with the little things, like brushing her teeth and getting dressed. Otherwise, Meggie would be climbing into her SUV for the burial in yesterday’s clothes.
Max and Whitfield, in the black primer Matchbox car, are ready to go when Janine and her husband and teenage daughters show up in their minivan. I jump through the side of the SUV, get comfortable in the backseat, and off goes the world’s unhappiest caravan to the only funeral home in town.
Meggie holds up better than I expect through the day. The only explanation is that she’s numb. I block her just three times: once when hers eyes freeze on the four rectangular holes cut into the red Earth (a sight so shocking even my own breath is stolen), once when she lays a penny on Josh’s casket, and once when it’s time to leave. She won’t pull away from the shiny pink and blue boxes that hold her babies. As much as I hate to, I have to interfere so she’ll accept Max’s coaxing to get her out of here. Poor Lawson, Brody’s not faring much better.
Back at the house, the luncheon provides enough food to feed a third-world country, but no one is eating. In fact, I can’t recall Meggie eating anything the past three days.
Note to self: make sure Meggie eats soon.
Elliott continues excelling at ignoring me. After three stalker-like attempts, I leave him alone.
The crowded room stills after I silence my calimeter. I and the three other Satellites burn through the atmosphere like an impossibly bright rainbow.
The hardwood creaks under my feet when I hit the floor of my room. Wary, I decide to try coding again, partly because of Willow’s advice, but mostly because my muscles need some relief. Just a quick session before training and I’ll be on my way. I will not think about the thing I refuse to think about. I will not think about the freezing—
Stop it!
My eyes are closed before I’m even sitting on the mat. One by one, the puppet-string restraints release me. Yes, I really needed this. Before the buck makes his way into the clearing, I blink hard to snap myself out of coding in an attempt to avoid any unwanted diversions and then…
Oh, come on!
I gasp for air but a lead weight is too heavy on my chest. My eyes are the only part of me able to move and they dart madly around my old bedroom, unable to see what’s restrain
ing me.
Darkness forms at the outer edge of my vision and closes in until there’s nothing but black. Panicked, my wide eyes search for light, but find none. The swirling ice that cuts into my flesh doesn’t die with my vision. Instead, it begins to warm. I’ll take the warmth over the cold any day of the week.
The temperature increases and increases and increases. Hot, hotter, yikes!
I take it back, I take it back! Give me the cold!
“Stop!” I roar, but my voice is only in my head. My mouth is melting like my skin and the concrete weight pressing me into my mattress is unrelenting. The flames lick up my neck and the imprisoning darkness intensifies the burn.
It’s almost over, it’s almost over, it’s almost over, I repeat, pushing away the image of my skin dripping from my bones like hot wax. The flames move slower, lingering on every inch of my charred neck until they finally reach my ear.
“Grant, please come back to me,” the flame whispers.
Liquid ice floods through my heated veins before I convulse with chills so severe I’m sure I’m going to crack in half.
9. What in God’s name are you doing
My teeth are chattering when I strip off my shirt. The lunatic in the mirror puffs out a visible breath, but as instant as the coffee around here, my next breath is invisible.
My finger recoils from the freezing, purple blister on my chest. When I touch my knee, goose bumps run down my legs and across my bare chest. Still shivering, I drop my jeans to see a similarly gruesome blister.
I kick out of my boots and walk to the closet in my boxers, pulling on the heaviest sweatshirt I can find and leaving the hood up. I jump into a new pair of jeans and rub my hands along my upper arms for more warmth. I expect to see my breath every time I exhale.
I shiver and put on one of the seven pairs of work boots along the back wall. How convenient that the leather on each shoe is broken in just how I like them. Once dressed, the only thought floating through my head, aside from concern for my blistered chest and knee, is this: must have coffee.
When I inhale the first cup, the heat that swims down my throat is nothing compared to the burn from coding. I drink the second cup a little more slowly. By the third, I’m collecting my bag and am on my way to the courtyard for training.
The field is empty when I push through the doors. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who needed to code. I jog the distance to Jonathan, hoping the movement will warm me up to at least a comfortable thaw.
“Grant, how are you? I was wondering if you were going to join us today.”
I try to swallow my sarcasm. “Here I am.” Insert big, fake smile.
“I can see that.” He mirrors my expression. “The others have already been dismissed.”
Goodbye smile. “Huh?”
“We had a great session. I suspect you were coding?”
Not for two hours.
“Are you all right? You’re looking pale.”
My head bobs up and down. “Mmm Hmm.” Feel free to stop nodding anytime, you idiot.
“How is your assignment? No problems, I hope.”
“No, no problems. Well, except that Meggie’s children and mother are dead. Aside from that, no.” Maybe I should have stopped after the first no, but whatever.
“They’re not dead, as you know. I’m glad things are going well,” Jonathan says lightly.
I don’t recall ever using the term “well.” Refraining from an eye roll may be the most difficult thing I’ll do all day.
My timepiece hums like fingernails on a chalkboard and Jonathan glances down at my wrist. Certainly he can’t hear it. Being subjected to one is torturous enough; hearing all of them would turn a sane person into a window licker. Before I can ask, he’s telling me to have a great day and walking toward the doors.
Right. “You too,” I murmur.
I throw my coffee mug across the lawn, jealous because wherever it disappears to will surely be better than the nightmare that awaits me. With a deep breath, I close my fist around Meggie’s locket, say the magic word, and the neon-green lawn disappears from under me.
As soon as my feet hit the crowded living room hosting death’s after-party, Lawson assaults me with questions. “What’s up? Where were you today? You didn’t puss out because of Billy, did you?”
“Billy? Why would my absence have anything to do with Billy?”
“He’s convinced you bailed because you were scared.”
I freeze with my hand in my backpack clutching my book. “You’re kidding, right?”
Lawson cocks his head. “Why else wouldn’t you show?”
“I was coding.”
“For two hours?”
Meggie’s crying interrupts my thought. Brody is chasing after her and Lawson and I follow them into the bedroom. Brody tells Ryan to give them a minute and closes the door.
“It’s not fair!” Meggie yells through her sobs.
Brody reaches for her. “I know, baby. I know.” When he gets his arms around Meggie, she jerks away, knocking the bedside lamp over in the process.
She falls backward, taking the bedside lamp with her and cutting her hand on the broken bulb in the process.
Brody locks his arms around her, but she punches against his chest. “Let me go! Let me go!”
“Block!” I yell.
Calm down, calm down, calm…
I think through the pain and manage to sever the command.
Meggie goes limp in Brody’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably when Max and Janine come in. I don’t bother hiding my tears from Lawson this time. If he’s not shedding any, he’s the only one in the bedroom who isn’t.
Meggie finally calms down and lets Janine clean the deep cut in her hand at the bathroom sink. The gash could probably use a few stitches, but I figure if the nurse isn’t going to press the issue, who am I to argue? I slide down the wall and onto the dingy checkerboard tile, wishing there was something more I could do to help her.
Meggie refuses to leave the bathroom so Janine stays with her while Brody rejoins the crowded house in effort of getting everyone to leave. He recruits Ryan’s help in the bedroom.
Lawson’s cargo pants and boots come into my downcast view thirty minutes later.
“Most of the guests are gone.”
I loosen my entwined fingers. “Do you think this will be the worst of it for them?”
Lawson takes up the entire doorway and his deflated expression is enough of an answer. He turns and disappears into the bedroom.
“Good talk,” I mumble to my fidgeting thumbs.
Whitfield comes in five minutes later because, apparently, this is the place to be. “Hey, hon. How’s it going?”
“Excellent. You?”
She shrugs, not catching my jeer. “All right, I guess. The party’s over. I’m heading out with Max. Just wanted to let you know.”
“OK.” Long pause. “Bye,” I finally add when she keeps lingering.
“Umm, you and Rigby are friends, right?”
Ah, her motive has emerged. I nod, knowing I could make this conversation easier for her, but my patience just isn’t where it should be today.
“Has he…mentioned me?”
I give her my best don’t know/don’t care shoulder shrug. “Why?” I am such a jerk.
“Oh, um, no reason.” Her face turns as red as her hair and she disappears through the wall.
“Whitfield?” I yell, feeling bad about inflicting my sour mood on her.
She’s back in half a second. “Yeah?”
“He’s totally into you.”
Her freckles light up, making me glad I called her back.
“Thanks! See ya around.” She brushes past Janine on her way out.
Fifty bucks says I’ll get no goodbye from Elliott.
Somehow, Meggie and Janine have fallen asleep in the shoebox-size bathroom, stealing my position on the floor, which leaves just one place for me.
Perched on the toilet, I almost laugh. This so fittingly sums up my day.
Both girls drift in and out of sleep through the quiet night while Brody’s snores carry into the room. Meggie moves slow when she pulls herself up from the floor in the early morning. She twists and her backbones crack.
Meggie steps over a sleeping Janine and stops by the mirror to examine her puffy, red eyes. She then unwraps the bandage and opens her hand, making a pained face when she does.
I’m grateful that the rest of the day proceeds uneventfully. Janine helps Brody and Meggie clean up from the after-funeral-party. Later, she delivers the comatose-like couple to the therapy appointment she’s scheduled. I get a reprieve from blocking during the hour-long session, figuring that’s what Doc Arnoldson is here for.
Lawson and I follow behind the minivan when Janine delivers the couple back home. She leaves an hour later when Meggie and Brody fall asleep together on the sofa. With Lawson and I having nothing to say to each other, I welcome the momentary peace, knowing it surely won’t last.
I bypass coding and head straight to Benson when I get back. Liam and Willow are in spy mode, but this time I have the upper hand because they don’t see me coming.
“…it still doesn’t make sense,” Willow is saying, not noticing me standing behind her.
“You heard her, she asked him to come back. I’m telling you, she could sense him when he was there and now she can sense he’s not. It’s the only explanation,” Liam whispers.
“That’s your imagination, not an explanation. How could she possibly know what happened?”
“I don’t know.” Liam pauses. “But you saw her piecing the torn photograph together and begging him to come back.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What else could it be? Enough time has passed. She should be showing more improvement than this.”
“She did talk to Fish today,” Willow says.