daynight

by Megan Thomason

  “Gads, the new girl tanked into a Theranberry bush,” I hear a familiar voice say. “She better not have damaged it.”

  “Shut up and give her a break,” I hear Blake say. “She tripped.”

  “Oh, hey, look, she’s waking up,” the boy says. I open my eyes to confirm what I’d seen wasn’t something out of a horrible nightmare, scramble off the table they’d put me on, and run to a nearby garbage can to vomit up my lunch, a tuna fish sandwich, something I’ll never eat again after re-tasting it upon exit. Blake rushes to my side and caresses my back, whispering in my ear.

  “Kira, I know you are seriously tripping. I am too. But, we have to be really careful. We screw this up and we’re Exiled and likely dead within twenty-four hours.” He hands me a towel to wipe my mouth. What I really need is a toothbrush to dislodge the fishy morsels from my teeth. And some tweezers to dislodge Theranberry thorns from my arms.

  “I can’t do this,” I respond. I sit down on a bench, hyperventilating, and start to dig the thorns out of my flesh with my fingernails. “I can’t pretend like I don’t know some of these people. I don’t know what kind of sick, twisted trick they’re playing on us or how the heck they pulled it off, but they crossed the line big time.”

  “Yeah they did,” he says, keeping his eyes peeled for eavesdroppers, but the hordes seem to be keeping at bay to allow me time to fully recover, and to stay clear of my vomit repellant.

  “I mean—how many times did I hear the term Second Chancers, and not once, not one freaking time did I ever entertain the thought—because it is so not possible,” I say, although it does shed some light on many things that Spud said.

  “Hey, you can’t keep the new chick all to yourself, buddy.” The boy and a band of do-gooders have joined us, despite the smell, and I take him in, head to toe, looking for something, anything to prove I’m insane. But he looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him, save a change of attire.

  “My name’s not buddy. It’s Blake. And this is Kira,” Blake offers, as if it should be news. The two shake hands briefly, but the boy quickly shrugs off Blake and moves forward to address me.

  “Hey Kira, good to meet you, gorgeous. I’m Tristan, and we Garden City High kids aren’t all that bad, certainly nothing to puke over. Come meet my girl, Briella, and the others.” He puts his hand out to shake mine. His big brown teddy bear eyes are as entrancing as ever, even if I last saw him kissing ‘his girl, Briella’ a.k.a. my best friend.

  “Yeah, just a minute. I need a word with Mr. Rosenberg first,” I say, pointing towards Spud and ignoring Blake’s warning head shaking. “Excuse me.” I turn and walk across to the tabled area where Spud is taking in the scene.

  “Please explain,” I insist. “What are my dead boyfriend, best friend, and classmates doing here? I witnessed the explosion and saw the heaps of incinerated bodies after the fact. So, again, please explain. Now.” Blake has joined me and is listening intently.

  “Everything has been explained to you already, dear,” he says. “Your friends are being given a second chance here on Thera. Remember that you were told that ‘what can exist on Earth can’t exist on Thera’ and vice versa? Well, for certain people—those as I told you before that were victims of circumstances not of their own making, such as the accident your friends perished in—they are allowed to live out the remainder of what their natural life would have been on Earth here on Thera. I even do recall telling you that my own daughters were happily living out their lives in the next world. The next world has a name. It’s Thera.” He’d told me the story of his daughters’ drowning when he came to my house to offer me a spot with the SCI and have my parents sign the paperwork.

  “Yeah sure, you said all those things, but you left out just enough information for me to be able to put it together. You deceived me,” I say.

  He shakes his blubbery chin and asks, “Do you not want your friends to have the opportunity to live out their lives?”

  “That’s not it. They don’t even recognize me. How is that? And why did Tristan call Briella his ‘girl’?”

  He puts a patronizing hand on my shoulder and in a hushed tone says, “You have to realize that you and Blake and me being here is the anomaly—we’ve been given a gift to travel between Earth and Thera. All others who come here must die first, but I can assure you that Second Chancers arrive here in a state of comfort and happiness. They have zero memory of their life on Earth, but their personalities and talents remain intact. They often do become attached to the person they were last with on Earth.” His intimation is clear. How does he know, though, that Tristan and Bri were together?

  After allowing a bit of a smile to peek through in recognition that he tweaked me, Spud continues. “The Second Chancers’ welfare is our primary concern, which is why we like to bring in people who know them and can report on their progress from an insider’s perspective. Think of it as an advanced psychology experiment.” My body burns with fury at his arrogance, at the arrogance of the Second Chance Institute. They’re using my friends as lab rats and I’m the mad scientist who gets to push the buttons.

  “Mr. Rosenberg,” I say. “You are a first class psychopath.” Blake grabs my arms to keep me from physically attacking him.

  “We can discuss your concerns at our debriefing later. But now I insist you join you friends and get reacquainted, without discussing the past, of course. The areas beyond Garden City are not very habitable from what I hear,” he says, threatening tone present. Perhaps he’ll do something worthy of Exile and happen upon the Eco Barrier, which if there is any justice on Thera, will turn Spud into potato soup.

  “Fine,” I respond, gritting my teeth. Despite the Second Chance Institute’s philanthropic claims, I’m not convinced that their primary concern is for my friends or any of the other Second Chancers, but for much more selfish reasons. And even though I’m no afterlife believer, if there is a God and a heavenly place we go after death I’m pretty sure this isn’t it.

  I drag my feet as Blake and I head back towards the crowd, jabbing Blake in the side as we do. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He stumbles over his words. “Uh, well, uh, because I’m a little tongue tied and somewhere between being thrilled to see my sister alive, and freaked that the love of your life is standing fifteen feet away from us after you kissed me.” I want to deck him. What’s his obsession with that sucky, accidental kiss anyway? Forget that. Tristan is alive? Tristan and Bri are boyfriend and girlfriend? I have them back, but I don’t, since they’re just shells of their former selves. The pain I feel is unbearable, but I’m going to have to wait a couple hours to have the breakdown that must happen. Until then, I’m going to plaster on my cheer smile and make friends with my friends.

  As we rejoin Tristan, I say, “Sorry about that. I just needed to talk to Mr. Rosenberg about the medications the doctor shot into me this evening. Clearly they had some major side effects that no one told me about.” They all nod as if they can relate, although I doubt they get the pleasure of nightly clinic visits. Or maybe they do if they’re really lab rats. “Anyway, let’s start over. I’m Kira Donovan. This is Blake Sundry, and we’re obviously new to the school.”

  “Where’d they house you?” Tristan asks.

  “Around the bend. Nice place. How about you guys? Where are you at?” I ask. I point in the general direction of our house, but realize all I can see is swirling lights.

  “Bri and I are sharing a place that way, too. That’ll be sweet. We can skate over together after classes,” he says. Several others point in the general direction of our house, as well.

  “Blake’s an awesome skater, but I can’t quite get the hang of it,” I say, a lie given I’ve never tried, but it is a certainty that I’d suck.

  “You guys have a thing going?” Tristan asks as he gestures between Blake and me. I don’t know quite how to answer that. The powers that be assume we have a relationship going. Given the situation now, am I prepared to keep that up? Blake is looking
to me to respond, as I can tell there’s no way he’s going there.

  “Uh yeah, some sort of thing,” I say with enough finality to make it clear I don’t intend to share more. “And you are with—was it Bri or Briella?”

  “Yeah, Bri and I are pretty tight. We haven’t Cleaved, but we’re seriously thinking about it. We just had this instant connection, you know?” he says, motioning Bri over. She’s as stunning as ever, her athletic figure adapting well to Theran attire. She seems to be checking out Tristan’s reaction to me before determining whether I’m friend or foe-worthy.

  Bailey Goodington joins us, too, but ignores me completely. She seems to be in shock at the sight of Blake, looking him and up and down like he’s a melting popsicle that she wants to lick. Blake, on the other hand, is looking at Bailey like she’s a popsicle that he’d like to take a blow-torch to. I can see Bailey going after fresh meat, but what Blake’s deal with Bailey? I have to snicker at seeing Bailey, the former queen of fashion, in a standard issue Garden City High uniform, even if she does manage to rock it. Back on Earth Bailey’s wardrobe seemed to self-propagate and I always imagined her closet to be complete with a personal tailor (actually, I know she had a standing Tuesday afternoon appointment with her tailor so that her weekend wardrobe could be finished by Friday. He, however, worked offsite at his Goodington-funded studio).

  “Kira and Blake. Meet Bri and Bailey,” Tristan says. I bite my nail again, still not being able to get my head around Tristan and Bri together. Flashes of that night fill my head, which aren’t helped as Tristan shoves some tongue down Bri’s throat right in front of us. It’s him all right, hasn’t changed a bit.

  “So,” Blake says, finally finding his voice, “why don’t you guys show us around?” Thank you Blake for getting us off the topic of relationships and Cleaving or I’d be doing a lot more heaving. Tristan drags Blake off to show him the sports facilities and I’m left with Bri and Bailey.

  “Kira, is it?” Bri asks. Bailey’s busy watching Blake walk away and muttering “unfreakingbelievable.” I guess he made quite the impression on her. I feel a small pang of jealousy over her open gawking at my fake boyfriend.

  “Yeah,” I answer Bri as I stare at her. She looks the same. Still tall. Hair’s still dark and wavy. Eyes are still bright blue and surrounded by heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow. But her demeanor has changed a bit. She looks happier, less jaded. The last year before her death she’d been a little withdrawn, always wanting to talk about and meddle in my business, but never willing to open up about her own.

  She can spew out words faster than anyone I know. “Ignore Tristan. He’s a super competitive showoff. I swear he thinks the next couple to self-Cleave is going to get some sort of prize or something.” I can’t respond to that one without saying something I shouldn’t, so just nod.

  “Your boyfriend is hot,” Bailey pipes up, making conversation. “His name’s Blake? He’s got gorgeous eyes and a smokin’ body.”

  “Yes, his name’s Blake Sundry. But, we aren’t quite at the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing,” I respond. Bailey shoots me one of her well known ‘I’m better than you’ smiles. I can already see the scheme forming in her head. She’s nothing if not one of the most calculated and manipulative people I know. We always got along as fellow cheer squad members, but those who weren’t on her good side were targeted and tortured. She was particularly vindictive while wasted and she rarely abstained. If she’s got her sights set on Blake and she thinks I’m in her way it could get ugly.

  Briella pipes in. “Kira, I bet you and Blake will Cleave. You look right together. There’s no hurry though unless his eighteenth is coming up like Tristan’s,” she says, presumably to irk Bailey. Bailey looks at Briella like she wants to stab her.

  Bailey says, “I have to disagree. Kira here looks all ‘what you see, you can’t touch’ and well, Blake looks like the real touchy-feely sort. And I just know he feels real fine. Someone’s gonna Cleave that and I’m willing to bet my teebs that it’ll be someone who knows what to do with such fine merchandise.”

  “I don’t think either of us are thinking about Cleaving,” I say, trying not to let Bailey know she’s hit a nerve or three.

  Bri says, “Knock it off, Bailey. You’ve been anti-Cleaving all along. Don’t pretend like you’re suddenly a fan.”

  “That’s because I’ve been surrounded by uninteresting dolts… until now,” Bailey says, flashing her most wicked grin. Yeah, in your past life you seem to have found most these guys quite interesting at one time or another. “Besides, a girl has a right to change her mind. Cleaving may just be for me after all.”

  Bri ignores Bailey, rolls her eyes and addresses me. “We’ve already seen a couple of our guy friends not Cleave and then be Cleaved to random people they barely know. Maybe it’ll work out, but I prefer to choose my Cleave myself.” Gah. They look the same, talk the same, but they’re dead and I’m having a hard time getting past that critical piece of data.

  “Yeah, I definitely think choice is a good thing,” I say. So’s freedom and governmental checks and balances. But, those seem to be missing in Garden City, too.

  “We’re going to get along, you and me,” Bri says. “I’m glad you’re here. I can tell we’re like-minded.” I used to think we were on the same page until I found her groping my boyfriend.

  “Thanks,” I say. “So, what’s there to do around here?” And with that, they show me around what is actually an enormous complex, serving children from preschool through high school depending on the area. Several areas are so crowded, it’s almost claustrophobic, but everyone seems to have friends and be generally happy, so I guess that’s good. It all feels old school to me, like it must have been for my parents before everyone got obsessed with TV, the internet, texting, music and games. The focus appears to be on getting out and staying active, or on exploring one’s artistic talents. Had I come here cold turkey without having my self-imposed mourning period of inactivity I would have gone nuts, but by now I’m plenty used to not being attached to my phone, computer, and music at all times.

  We stop by the school clinic to clean and bandage my Theranberry bush wounds before continuing our tour. While walking I ask Bri and Bailey all kinds of generic questions, like where to get my hair done (they come to you), and whether they get to take any trips into the city (they take at least one a week to see various Career options). I’m careful not to ask about anything that they probably don’t have like restaurants or shopping, keeping it to inquiries about free time and school classes.

  I want to find out when they got here, how they got here and where they were prior, but know better. How can they deal with being seventeen, almost eighteen, and not knowing what they did for the first seventeen years? I suspect that’s why the past can never be mentioned. If the seed isn’t planted then they don’t even worry about the existence of the seed. Briella does most the educating me about the way of things, while Bailey peppers me with questions about me and Blake and where we were before we arrived. For someone with no memory of what happened, she seems oddly inquisitive. I was wary of alive-Bailey and surely don’t trust dead-Bailey.

  We meet up again with the boys on the interior football field where Tristan is tossing the ball to Blake with the force of a bullet. Tristan’s posse is cheering him on and laughing at Blake’s comparatively inept ball handling skills. Blake looks less than happy about it. Tristan’s got his shirt off and is calling plays as if Blake should know the entire high school playbook. Blake sees me and bolts off the field to my side, skirting Bailey who tries to grab him.

  “Save me,” he whispers. “You promised to have my back.”

  “Then save me,” I whisper back. “Because I’m having a seriously bad nightmare that involves zombies.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Tristan says, getting his sweaty body a little too close for comfort. “You already see some other guys you like better and want to ditch Blakey boy here? You probably never saw him try to catch a footb
all before, eh?” he says—I’m sure as a joke—but it just sounds conceited and makes Bri even more uncomfortable than it does Blake and me.

  I roll my eyes at Tristan’s dig at Blake. High school antics really are universal and I guess boys will be boys no matter what planet they are on. To Tristan I say, “Blake and I want to go take a walk in the canyon and check it out.”

  “I can show you the best paths,” Tristan offers.

  “I think that they’re looking for a little alone time, Tristan,” Bri says, and when I see Tristan sign ‘Forgive me’ to her, I can barely squeak out a response.

  “Thanks, but another time,” I say. “See you guys in a bit,” I add, before grabbing Blake by the hand and heading to the first path I see once leaving the interior. I walk carefully, but purposefully, paranoid about tripping into another thorny bush or happening upon some creepy critters. The path I chose isn’t as well lit as most. Every sound makes me jump and I don’t want to stray so far from the school, but I need distance from the dead kids. So, I wait until we’re at least a hundred yards away from anyone before I speak again.

  “Can I scream now?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Blake

  “I’m not sure screaming is going to help,” I say to her. “It’d just echo through the canyon and then you’d have to go back and explain why you’re having a meltdown over meeting some kids—who we aren’t supposed to know—and, who tried to be nice and show us around.” She’s pacing back and forth and flailing her arms like a deranged chicken and I know I need to get her to chill quickly.

  “OK, so those freaking SCI psychopaths stick us in a school with all our dead friends and want us to watch them like a bunch of mice in a cage and report on them nightly. Am I missing anything? What is the punishment for blowing the lid on all of it? Exile? How bad can it be? Maybe I could find shelter, food, and an exit portal out of here. That Daynighter dude implied the exit portal was close,” she says in a hushed, but clearly upset voice.