“Strictly for demonstration purposes,” Creesie said, not looking as serene as I had thought she should. “This will at least give you a general idea.” And before she had even finished her sentence, I was thrust into an instant and dramatic scene that I now became a part of.
Before me was a rushing river. I saw the back of a wet head hurrying past me, arms flailing. I couldn’t tell my precise location but I seemed to be above the river, following the dark-headed boy downstream. It was late afternoon, the sun was drifting down, and I could smell the crisp scent of the pines that encroached on the river’s edge. With my heightened senses, it was easy to take in every detail at once.
The boy continued to struggle against the strong current, but he was swiftly losing the battle. After some time, he drifted to a large rock near the water’s edge—weak but still alive. I saw what looked like a dark, filmy being hovering above the boy as he lay gasping for air. Suddenly, and strangely, my scope of vision narrowed. It was similar to the way a camera lens narrows when the photographer hits zoom. From my limited scope of vision, I watched as the shadowbeing transformed into a solid human form—male, barefooted, and wearing jeans—and though I could only see the being from the waist down, I knew that it had duplicated the shape and size of the unconscious boy.
Now, with a rising wave of anxiety, I looked on helplessly as the seemingly solid being walked closer to the boy, questioning all the while the familiarity in its easy stroll. And as it knelt beside the boy’s still body, I stifled a scream as it—without any sense of hesitation or provocation—fell inside the boy!
Suddenly, the boy began thrashing and flailing. Then, after a while, he got very quiet. Lying face down on the smooth boulder, I envisioned the dark being inside him, adjusting to its new form . . . gaining control. Then the boy began to move again, alert and renewed, as if nothing had transpired. And just before the boy lifted his head so that I could see his face, the tape abruptly ended.
Extracted from the scene, I looked around at the six of them, slightly disoriented.
“The depraved have a tendency to prey on the defenseless,” Creesie began, hearing my unspoken question. She motioned for Gus to get me some cake. “Being in a weakened state . . . illness, grief, near death”—my spine stiffened as she said this—“makes you an easier target.”
As I flashed back on the details of my encounter with the depraved, hot shame pulsed through me. Why hadn’t I fought back? Pleasure and pain, ecstasy and dread . . . I should have acted sooner and yet I had done nothing—nothing until I’d feared more for Daniel’s safety than for my own.
And then I thought of the boy again, and the haunting images shown to me—and I couldn’t help but think that my experience had been different. I distinctly remembered the sensation of my heart being strangled. Of the being who resembled my beautiful Ethan extending his hand deep into my chest and squeezing. And yet I hadn’t struggled! All the while as my life ebbed out of me, I hadn’t any desire to break its hold, nor had I breathed a breath of dissent. This seemed contrary to all that I stood for. I was a fighter! I used to be, anyway. Why hadn’t I fought to save myself?
I was thinking back . . . thinking back. Had something happened in between? I . . . Yes, there was something pressed in the middle! A thin slice of beauty in a sandwich of horror . . . memories of a musty old gym, a forgotten slow dance, and my first glimpse of an earlier Ethan. That’s why I hadn’t struggled. Buried bits of treasure had resurfaced from a time long ago. Bittersweet memories I thought I would never revisit again.
More confused than ever, I gaped at Creesie. “So that’s how they steal your soul? They steal your memories first?”
“Rin’s flare for the dramatic isn’t always the most telling,” she said. “It’s more of a melding than a stealing . . .” Or a sucking, I thought humorlessly. “Although their stay isn’t usually permanent—they get bored easily, you see—the aftereffects often linger.”
I bit my lip, recalling all too vividly what she meant.
“And that shouldn’t be your only concern, young lady!” Cat bellowed from across the room. She was glaring at me, her seventeen-year old face frowning with disapproval. “Don’t forget that there are people waiting for you—people counting on you! Your family, friends, and this boy . . . Quinn . . . Quinn . . .” She groaned, snapping her fingers before Mac’s shocked face. There was an audible gasp from Charlotte. Senility had finally set in; Cat couldn’t recall Ethan’s name. This wasn’t much of a shock to me.
“You mean Ethan, sweetheart,” Mac said quietly. “His name is Ethan Reid.”
Cat thought about this for a split second. Looking confused, then angry again, she hurried on, “This wonderful young man has been waiting for you, Hope, and here you sit in indecision eating cake with a bunch of . . . a bunch of old, dead people!”
“Hey, we’re not old!” Rin made big, I’m-so-offended, eyes at Charlotte.
“Well, you’re dead, aren’t you?” Cat snapped back.
For once, Rin had no comeback, which I admit I rather enjoyed. Her soul-sucking comments had gotten on my last nerve, or maybe all this pressure had left me with a short fuse. Either way, I was feeling very on-edge. Cat’s punchiness was catching.
“Creesie warned you from the get-go that your time here is limited!” Rising from the couch, Cat let her fury fly. “The living weren’t meant to remain here for any length of time and still sustain their earthly connections! You cannot survive between two worlds! Do you understand how very grave your situation is?”
I avoided rolling my eyes (logically assuming that this might make her—if it were possible—angrier), but I did think Cat had used the word grave to illustrate a point. As in, I wasn’t far from it. So instead I nodded vigorously, though not as quickly as Cat had wanted. Eyeing me with disgust, she stormed off to the kitchen. No one said a word as we listened to the deafening banging of pots and pans and pans flying about the kitchen.
Moments later, Gus gave my leg a pat. “It’s not you. She’s always had a wildcat’s temper. We don’t call her Cat because it’s short for Catherine.”
“She hadn’t expected you to be here this long,” Mac said, but I could barely hear him for the banging. “She’s worried about you.”
I gave Mac a weak smile. If the two of them actually had been married, I already knew who wore the pants in the family.
“I get it.” My voice sounded small. “If I were her, I’d be upset with me, too.”
“But you’re not in any hurry . . . to return, I mean?” With her hands resting in her lap, Creesie tilted her head in a manner I’d seen far too many times. I flinched before I answered.
“Not really,” I answered, thinking I sounded a little guilty. “It’s my choice and Ethan is fine with it . . . well, more than fine with however long I need to decide.” I fudged on that last part, but I would have sounded like a selfish idiot if I hadn’t.
“Ever heard of the will-to-live?” Creesie went on, ignoring my lie.
“Sure, it’s when a person lives or dies based on his desire to do so.” I had watched Grandpa George suffer through five long years of lung cancer because he couldn’t bear the idea of leaving my grandmother, Gigi. I didn’t think it was always a good thing.
“Yes, you’re right, I suppose. Under threat of a terminal illness, it could prolong a person’s suffering . . .”
In frustration, I threw my hands in the air. Was nothing off-limits?
Creesie apologized with an angelic smile. “Sorry, I keep trying not to listen, but it isn’t as easy as you might think, especially with our connection growing stronger.”
I had noticed recently that I was able to hear her thoughts—well, all of theirs—as easily as if I could hear my own, but it was infrequent, at best. During down times, which often felt like they had changed channels on me, I knew they were intentionally blocking my reception, though I hadn’t any idea why. The dead were apparently full of secrets.
“Will-to-live?” I prompted, pulling Cre
esie out of some internal conversation with Mac, now was leaning her way. In the background, the banging was diminishing.
Creesie looked at me, and without bothering to check, I felt eight other eyes fixed upon me in that same moment. It was unnerving, mostly because I sensed something awful was coming, though Creesie’s expression gave nothing away.
“Let’s say someone gave the impression—unintentionally, of course—that she had lost the will-to-live. Do you think the body could survive long without it?”
“That wouldn’t . . .” I drew my brows together. “How could that happen?”
“If someone . . . again, entirely by accident . . . wandered from their physical body for too long a period of time . . . wouldn’t that make it appear that they had lost the desire to live? And wouldn’t it also, simply by not choosing, become a choice by default?”
My legs started to bounce as my pulse sped up. Shakily, I handed my glass to Rin.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” My voice cracked, disappeared. “If I don’t make a choice soon, my body will think I no longer wish to live—and I might die before I’ve even had the chance to choose? Give it to me straight. Is this will-to-live thing more urgent than having one of the depraved invade my nearly-dead body?”
“Now that they’ve seen what Charlotte can do, they’re probably thinking you’re a bit more trouble than you’re worth.” Creesie spoke without emotion. “At least for a while. So, yes—this matter should be deemed far more urgent.”
I looked at each of them. They wore matching expressions of compassion. Or pity. It was too much to take. It was all just too much. My last nerve gave way.
Exasperated, I bellowed, “I don’t believe this!”
Well, I did, but it seemed stupidly unfair. If I had it all straight—and I thought, for once, I had—I’d survived my mother’s death, lived through a near-fatal accident, fallen desperately in love, rescued my beloved first love, nearly had my soul stolen and lived to tell the tale—only to have the single most important decision of my life stolen from me? Because of what? A stupid will-to-live? Who made up these crappy rules, anyway?
I sprang from the couch and darted for the door. I had no idea where I was going; I only knew I wanted out of there as fast as possible, away from constant reminders of the choice I wasn’t ready to make, and one which might not be mine to decide for long. I was at the end of the block when I stole a glance back at Creesie’s house and spotted a good-sized structure hidden in a tall tree in her backyard. The tree’s outstretched limbs whispered of comfort, begging me to come and climb them. In a rush, I ran back.
The thick, nubby branch was just low enough for me to jump up and grab with an oversized leap. My fingers didn’t reach all the way around, but I flipped my legs through my arms and hung upside down by my knees far too easily. Before my heart had the chance to beat again, I whipped myself up. Perching ballerina-like on the tips of my toes, I leapt at the next branch, a good thirty feet up. I was starting to realize how much I missed climbing. Compared to maneuvering a crag, this was child’s play. But it had its benefits. With every leap, I could feel my lungs expanding with air. I was exhilarated by the freedom of it. By the third limb, I was already quite the acrobat—flipping up and performing a double backward somersault before landing gracefully on the limb above it. Following several more death-defying flips through the air, I jumped down one hundred feet, settling lightly onto the roof of the small, wooden structure.
It was a child’s tree house, though large enough for me to squeeze inside. From the shingled roof, I saw an escape hatch, lifted it, and bounded soundlessly inside. There were two small windows on the front and back. The small front door was open, and I could see wide-planked steps that led to the ground. Beside the steps was a long rope made for hauling up food and other supplies. Or possibly, quick escapes.
“Joseph built it for his and Creesie’s girls—Dollie, Annie, and Edie.” I knew Mac had just appeared; he certainly hadn’t been there the breath before. Sitting cross-legged in the opposite corner, and wearing the widest grin ever, he hadn’t even startled me.
“Ever heard of knocking?” I muttered, still angry.
Ignoring me, he went on, “Thank goodness Joe built it big enough for all three of the girls. Otherwise, you and me might be a tangle of arms and legs in here.”
“Even so, all your hot air is making it a little stuffy,” I huffed, and Mac snorted with pleasure. Smiling back was easier than I cared to admit. There was something about him that made me feel very much at ease. He gave off a sort of fatherly feel.
“Want to go for a rooftop sit?” he suggested.
Once we were on the roof, I got a better view of the neighborhood. I guessed that I was watching Creesie’s memories from an earlier decade, possibly from when her girls were little. The details were amazing. She had lived on a lively block, and the fifties must have been her favorite. Kids rode their bikes up and down the block. Neighbors waved hello to other neighbors as they washed their cars in their driveways. And everybody was dressed up, like they were on their way to church. Mac and I watched in amazed silence. It was like being inside an old black-and-white movie—but in color.
Sadly, other thoughts crept in.
“Mac, why do you suppose life is so unfair?”
“I’ve often wondered that myself, doll.” Mac stretched out his short legs. “If I had to guess, I’d say that sometimes what we think is unfair is really just us not seeing the big picture, the grand plan. The best decisions are often the hardest ones.” He narrowed his eyes at the sun. “Then again, sometimes life just royally sucks, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I’m working on being cool,” Mac said, in this really stupid voice.
“Isn’t there an age limitation on that?”
“In my mind, I’m only twelve,” he reminded me, and I laughed. Then he changed the subject. “You have other questions for me. Uh, well . . . I imagine you do.”
“Yeah, right. Eavesdropper.” I faked a snarl.
“You are sort of an open book, kid.”
“I’m trying hard not to be.” But it obviously wasn’t working.
“Best not to bottle things up. Just get it off your chest,” he told me.
I’d never been in a position where so much was going on that it seemed there was no place to begin or end. I had behaved terribly, and it kept getting worse. Doing the right thing no longer seemed like an option. I was determined to get what I wanted, without regard to what anyone else thought or needed. It wasn’t right, but there it was. Just the glaring, ugly truth.
I went with the first words that made any sense. “Did you ever feel like your life was a total mess, Mac? Like you have much up in the air and you just keep messing up?” I took another few moments to think, the chaos swirling like a tornado in my mind. “I thought I had enough to deal with when it was just me in the picture. But now—” I broke off. I didn’t have the energy, or maybe the courage, to say the rest.
“But now, there’s Daniel,” Mac prompted, and for once it didn’t make me feel weird that he was listening to my thoughts. It made me feel loved.
“I don’t understand how Daniel got stuck at that Station.” My cheeks were hot as I considered this next part. “And I try not to think about how Ethan is going to react when he hears how I behaved.”
Mac just nodded as he listened. He seemed bored by it, as though he’d heard it all before. He was looking off into the distance, watching the busy street below us. Because of his apparent lack of interest, I was able to speak the words I almost couldn’t admit to myself.
“But behind it all . . . behind all that, I have this one wish that hangs in the back of my mind. It’s ridiculous to wish for, but it never goes away . . . And no matter how often I tell myself to stop wishing for it, no matter how much I tell myself to just go back to where I belong and let it be . . . I can’t make myself do it.”
I knew Mac knew what the w
ish was about, but to his credit, he pretended he didn’t. He took a deep breath, then said, “Yeah, doll. Some things are awfully hard to let go of.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I rubbed them away. I had cried more here than I had the entire seventeen years of my life. “Do you think that’s selfish?” I choked. “Or crazy?”
“I’ve seen crazier.” Mac sent me a reassuring smile. “But lots of things would go through a person’s mind if they were faced with the choice that you have to make. That’s probably why most of us aren’t burdened with it.”
“And what about the other part, the selfish part?”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “Then again, most of the living usually are.” He picked a green leaf from a nearby branch, examined its tiny veins. “We’re all fragile, doll. We all have weaknesses. And, if we’re going to have any, I suppose a weakness for love is one of the best ones to have.”
That’s when I knew he had listened a little too hard. I smashed my lips together to keep from speaking, but there was a broken part inside of me that started to feel better.
Mac tossed the torn leaf into the wind. “I wouldn’t give a second thought to what happened at that other Station with Daniel. It seems he’s picked up a new talent, one that would make him impossible to resist. There’s that, of course, and the length of your connection.”
“But we were only together a year,” I said, confused. Surely, from his perspective, a year had to be next to nothing in measures of time. “That’s not a long connection, is it?”
“Yes, well . . .” Mac hedged, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
“Mac . . .?”
“I probably shouldn’t have said that,” Mac muttered.
“But you didn’t say a—” I skipped quietly ahead, listening to his thoughts. Then I gasped. “I did? I knew Daniel in another lifetime?” I listened for a few words longer until Mac changed channels on me, and I groaned. “Come on, what are you hiding?”
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