Moonlit

by Jadie Jones

  “Be seeing you,” Lucas says the moment I look up, and then he retracts his looming body from the doorway.

  The door clicks shut before I have time to respond.

  “Be seeing you,” I echo quietly to the empty office.

  Will I? I hope so. The thought comes as a shock. But I can’t deny it. Get a grip. I mean he wasn’t hard to look at, but you’ve known him all of two minutes. And “known” is an overstatement. Still, I can’t help but wonder what he might say if I asked him to come to lunch with me and Dana.

  What time is it? Shouldn’t she be back by now? I round Dana’s desk and jiggle the computer mouse. The old machine staggers to life. The small print in the corner of the screen reads seven thirty. That can’t be right. I move the mouse again and wait for the screen to unfreeze. Seven thirty one.

  My eyes scan the rest of her office. No daylight peeks under the closed door. Dana’s keys aren’t on the hook. The barn is too quiet. Did I really sleep that long? I pull open the door. Taped to it is a piece of paper with Dana’s scrawled handwriting:

  “T— Animal Control found something. Will fill you in tomorrow. I’m glad you’re getting some rest. Be safe. I’ll see you in the morning. —D”

  I fold the piece of paper and tuck it into the back pocket of my worn jeans. If Animal Control has already come and gone, who was that? The question makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I replay our conversation in my whirling brain. He said he was checking on me. I can’t shake the thought of his dark eyes. And those scars. My pulse quickens at the flash of his face across my mind. What if he’s still here? Even though my mouth is bone dry, I force a swallow.

  I slip out of the office and creep along the aisle wall to the end of the indoor arena. Most of the barn is visible from there. Careful only to expose the top of my head, I watch across the expanse of the barn for any movement. But the farm is perfectly still.

  “Nope. Nothing here,” I whisper to myself.

  But why do I feel like I want him to be here? The earlier tingles return along the curve of my neck and to the spot above my sternum—the place Lucas couldn’t stop staring at. I dismiss the thoughts as quickly as possible and head to the parking lot, empty except for Dad’s truck.

  The new night is clear and bright, the full moon putting off enough light to give me a shadow. A perfect night for a ride. I remember the promise I’d made Hopewell earlier in the day—a promise I’d made myself about doing something normal. Being normal. I turn in a slow circle and hunt for a gut reaction. You should stay. It’s not like Mom’s got dinner waiting or anything. The thought of sailing atop Hopewell’s powerful gallop lifts my rattled spirit.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” I challenge the night air.

  I think this day has already had its share of crazy. It owes me. I pocket my keys and walk briskly back inside, determined to hold tight to this rogue wave of enthusiasm. Without another thought, I stop by the tack room, scoop up my saddle, and head straight for Hopewell’s stall.

  4 The worst that could happen

  “Did you think I’d forgotten about you?” I fish for the peppermint in my pocket that Hopewell has come to expect. He noses my chest, impatient. “We’ll play it safe tonight, okay?” I say softly as I give him the treat and slide into his stall.

  His salty scent works like a salve on my frayed nerves. I inhale deeply, marveling at the welcome silence in my mind. I move the curry comb in firm circles along his muscled body, bringing loose hair and dirt to the surface. My mind shifts into auto-pilot and the rest of the world slips away as I brush the grime from his coat, slide the tack in place, and lead Hopewell from his stall. The sounds of his steel shoes against the concrete aisle echo across the quiet barn. My fingers methodically secure my helmet, and I swing into the saddle.

  The glow from the barn quickly dissolves into the inky night. Not a shred of it accompanies us past the mangled gate. But the dark offers little relief from the shadows that plague me in the light of day. The full moon casts a blue glow over the rolling field, making the dark places that sway in the steady breeze look alive. I release the breath I’d been holding as we near the riding ring. Hopewell stands still as I lean from the saddle to let us through the gate.

  Once we’re closed inside the safety of the lit arena, I take a quick scan of the tree line. The woods and their shadows are still.

  “Paranoid,” I say, unwilling to admit to myself that it sounds too much like a dare as it drifts across the empty pasture.

  I cluck to Hopewell and he strikes off in a floating trot. He stretches his neck and lets out a snort. We track a figure-eight pattern across the broad arena and then I move him up into a canter. His three-beat gait feels like flying. My eyes close in bliss as we sail down the long side of the ring. And then, a break in rhythm. The next two beats come too fast and his typically light step pounds at the ground. My muscles clench, locking my seat into the tack, and my eyes fly open.

  “Easy, Hope. Easy.”

  His pulse skyrockets, thumping through the saddle. I search the dark in a long sweep, anxious to catch sight of something I can define scurrying in the brush. But the field is empty.

  “I don’t see anything.” Panic raises my voice to an unfamiliar octave and every muscle tenses with adrenaline.

  Suddenly, he charges for the railing, twisting his head so far to the inside of the ring that I can see the rolling whites of his eyes. Whatever is scaring him is in here with us.

  I brace myself in the tack and chance a look behind us. Horror charges through my body as I lock eyes with a dark, ghastly creature slinking along behind us. It lowers its saber head and opens a pair of wide, capable jaws. My breath stills in my throat as it lunges from its crouch. Hopewell spins and bucks, kicking the beast square in the chest and throwing me onto his neck.

  Don’t fall! I cling to his mane as I try to right myself, but I can’t get my feet back in the stirrups.

  Hopewell leaps into a gallop and races toward the end of the ring. The distance between us and the fence evaporates in seconds. I push him forward, silently begging him to ignore the routine barrier. He powers off the ground and sails over the rail. I sit up as he lands, and steer him toward the barn. Without warning, he leaps sideways tossing me airborne. I cry out as I land hard in the saddle.

  Another animal races toward us from the side. The first creature is closing in from behind.

  Dad! Help me! The instinctive prayer makes me feel all the more desperate as helplessness squeezes my throat. Trust him, my father’s voice washes over my shattered mind. Putting all of my faith in Hopewell’s instincts, I release the pressure on the reins.

  “Go, go!” I yell, blindly kicking him forward.

  Hopewell wheels away from the lights of the farm and gallops toward the trees. The two creatures cackle at each other as they fall in line behind us.

  We rip through the dark woods. The branches claw at us, but Hopewell charges on. I know the pasture fencing must be up ahead, reinforced with steel mesh and over five feet high. With no clear place to take off or land, jumping may be more dangerous than whatever is chasing us through these woods. Angry tears leak from my eyes and are then torn from my cheeks by the frigid wind. I fight to ignore the trapped feeling, clinging to Hopewell’s mane as he pushes himself even faster.

  Moonlight sporadically shoots through the wooded canopy, betraying our dark cover. Hopewell sees the fence just in time to make a hard turn to avoid crashing into it and then gallops flat out alongside it.

  But we’re not alone. A dark streak gives chase, staying cloaked in the shadows of the trees. Hopewell’s right ear swivels back and forth, listening to it close in. I focus on the steady rhythm of air blowing out of his nose like a freight train. His head flings back, nearly cracking me in the face. A scream roars through my parted lips and tears the night in half as another black creature leaps at us head on, claws outstretched and huge jaws open in a wicked grin. Hopewell stumbles and then gathers.

  “
No!” My voice is shrill with panic as Hopewell flings himself sideways over the five-foot fencing. I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze my eyes shut as my left leg crushes between his sliding body and the fence rail. Sounds of splintering wood fill my ears.

  His legs buckle on the other side and his body flips above me as we roll across the hard earth. The saddle smashes into my face. Blood and leather are hot and salty in my mouth. But I feel no pain, and though I’m sure I’m screaming I don’t hear it. A rush of cold air stings like a slap in the face as I am flung free from the heat of his back. Hopewell’s labored breathing sounds somewhere ahead of me. I try to call out to him but no sound comes. I spit out blood as it drips steadily into my mouth.

  Have to get up. Have to keep moving. But I can barely lift my head, my body still writhing in agony as the air slowly returns to my lungs. My eyes train on the gaping hole in the mangled fence. The panther-like creatures gingerly tread across the broken boards and move silently toward me. My brain commands my body to crawl away but only my right arm responds. The other limbs answer with searing heat.

  One of the creatures is within inches of me. The smell of decay is heavy and metallic on its breath. Darkness creeps across the corners of my eyes. The grunts of Hopewell struggling to stand work to ignite any fight left in me. But the shadows win.

  5 Lucky

  I cough and roll to my side. My mouth is filled with dirt. I reach inside to wipe the grit from my tongue. I climb to my feet, which are bare, and shield my eyes with my hands so I can see into the distance. My white linen dress is a stark contrast against the endless, rust-colored desert. I turn in a slow circle, surveying my surroundings. And then, a flash of gray. Several faces spin in the sky above me. I close my eyes, take in a breath, and open them again. The faces have left. Cool relief washes over my skin.

  Movement in the distance catches my attention. My voice makes a cry that is simultaneously familiar and foreign to my ears. I walk toward the motion, which becomes more distinct by the second. Lucas comes to me, relaxed and unhurried, a bittersweet smile lining his tan face.

  “I want to stay here,” I say.

  “Do you know where you are?” he asks. I shake my head. “Do you know who you are?” Before I can answer, a murmur of voices sounds from overhead like threatening thunder.

  “We’re losing her again,” I hear. My eyes snap toward the sky and a warning hisses through my bared teeth. Another wave of voices yells from behind me. They sound closer now. I whirl and crouch low to the ground.

  “Get the crash cart,” a male voice calls. A searing white circle of light appears inches from my face. My eyelids snap shut. Lucas takes my hand in his.

  “Charge to two hundred,” another voice batters against my brain.

  “Leave me alone,” I scream back.

  “It’s okay, Spera. It’s time,” he reassures me, his mouth so close to my ear that his lips brush my skin.

  “Clear!” a voice booms. A bolt of lightning screams down from the blue sky and strikes the ground only inches from my feet. Lucas turns his sad, dark eyes to mine and squeezes my fingers in his big hand.

  “Be seeing you,” he whispers. Instantly I am flying, falling upwards into a sinking black.

  The total void begins to liquefy, the inky darkness pressing on my skin, filling my mouth. I try to lift my hand to wipe it away, but it won’t budge. You’re dreaming. Open your eyes. But they won’t open, glued together by whatever sticky substance I’m covered in. Behind my eyelids, my eyes begin to burn as desperate tears pool across their surfaces.

  Wake up!

  Slowly, the weight dissipates along with the darkness, fading into a soft gray. Sensations come back one by one. But all of them hurt. Someone is touching my hand. Lucas? My eyelids flutter as I work to make them stay open. Dana’s sing-song voice floats into my ears. Please be real. Her pensive face finally comes into focus. I draw in a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. The air moving down my throat and into my lungs feels like it’s splintering my ribcage. What’s happening to me?

  “Dana?” I rasp.

  Am I still in her office? Was that all a bad dream?

  “You’re awake!” Her head falls into my lap. The pressure floods my entire body with pain and makes me cry out.

  “Oh I’m so sorry,” Dana sits back from me, her face crumpled with worry. She reaches a worn hand across my face and swipes a messy lock of hair from my eyes. An emerald semi-circle about the size of a marble glows in the palm of her hand. The color looks alive, like she’d caught a lightning bug. I gasp as it passes within inches of my face. Up close I can tell that it’s in the shape of a horseshoe.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asks, alarmed by my reaction. She sits back and rests her hands palm-down on her knees. If that weird glowing thing is still there, I can’t see it.

  “Where am I?” The grayish room comes completely into focus. The dismal wallpaper is checkered with handmade posters. Words like “get well” and “feel better” leap out at me from the bright paper. And my name. Countless emotions swell in my chest and rise in my throat. She doesn’t have to tell me where I am anymore, but I let her.

  “You’re in the hospital. UVA Medical.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” My eyes move from the cheery posters to the suit of plaster that covers most of my body.

  “Pretty much everything” is all she can manage to say before her voice cracks.

  “What happened?” What’s the last thing I can remember? Meeting that man from Animal Control— Lucas. But he wasn’t with Animal Control. Why was he there?

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Don’t worry, Dana,” a man interjects calmly from the open doorway. I see the electric blue glowing from the crevice of his loosely clasped hands. “Most trauma patients never remember what they went through. We think it’s the mind’s way of protecting itself.”

  The shrink they made me see right after Dad died said something similar when I couldn’t explain what caused the accident. I’m glad Mom never made me go back. Oh, God. Mom. This will completely destroy her.

  “Dana, you didn’t tell—” I start, suddenly panicked.

  “Of course not,” Dana cuts me off, reading my mind. “I didn’t want to alarm her unless it was absolutely necessary since she’s out of the country on mission work,” she says pointedly. Her eyes dart to the man in blue scrubs and back to me. “Oh my God, Tee. You’re so lucky.” She chokes on her words and dissolves into tears.

  “Tee? You haven’t called me that since I was a kid,” I whisper and try my best to give her a reassuring smile. But it feels lopsided.

  “Dana is a good friend. She’s barely left your side,” the man says and steps to the foot of my bed. He looks younger up close. Too young to be a doctor. Unless he’s some kind of prodigy.

  Who are you?

  His eyes are the same sapphire blue as the glow I won’t acknowledge in his hands. But I could look at his eyes all day. They’re incredible. I catch myself staring straight into them. There go the butterflies again. Second time ever. Of course I can’t think about these butterflies without thinking about the first. For all you know Lucas was just part of a very bad dream.

  “She’s the best.” I reach out for her with my right hand, the only part of me that isn’t weighted down by a cast. “I can’t believe someone found me. Who found me out there?”

  “One of the firemen. Thank goodness he noticed your truck. I never should’ve left you in my office. I just couldn’t bear to wake you.”

  “Fireman? Why was a fireman there?”

  “She doesn’t remember the fire?” Dana pleads with the guy in scrubs.

  “It’s to be expected, Dana,” he reassures her.

  “What fire? Tell me what happened,” I demand, instantly more alert. The jumbled memory of being chased through the woods floods my battered brain. I press my free hand hard into my eyes as a sudden headache slices between my eyes. “Is Hopewell okay?” I ask through clenched teeth.


  “I can’t do this,” she says and stands up to put more distance between her and my questions.

  “Dana?” I plead.

  “What if it’s too soon to tell her?” she asks, turning away from me.

  “I’m right here! Don’t talk like I’m not here!”

  “She’s stable, Dana. She’s awake. She’s asking questions. She’s proven that she’s a tough girl,” he answers.

  I close my eyes and my focus on the last moments that I can remember. Hopewell jumping the fence. Trying to crawl away from those things. There was no smoke. No one was there but me. How could a fire start? What am I forgetting?

  “How did the fire start?” I ask, desperate to thread the pieces together.

  “They’re still investigating. There’s no one point of origin, so the inspector said that it’s going to be harder to tell. But they’re not ruling out arson,” Dana says.

  “There was no one there. Well except—” An invisible finger jabs at my sore ribs and cuts me off. Lucas. Who probably wasn’t even real.

  Dana’s face stares plainly into mine as she waits.

  “Me. And the horses, of course,” I finish. If he was real I don’t know enough about him to be helpful. And if he’s not they might lock me in the psych ward and throw away the key.

  Dana collapses limply into the chair. “They’re gone, Tanzy,” she sobs.

  “Who’s gone?”

  “The horses. All of them.”

  “They died?” I shriek.

  “No, they can’t find them. No remains, no bodies, no nothing. They’re considering some kind of mass-theft. And then maybe whoever stole them set the farm on fire to erase any evidence. That’s the theory they’re working on now, anyway,” she says, flailing angrily in the stiff chair.