On the Fringe

by Courtney King Walker

  I knew she was right, but still didn’t know what to say. Instead, I bit my lip and nodded in agreement as she rested her hand on my arm.

  Unable to focus on her anymore, I stared at the ceiling, trying to lose myself in my misery. But it wasn’t just misery. I felt so violated, so outraged. Yes. Outraged. That was more like it. Who were these people, these sick voyeurs and psychotic ghosts, who felt they had a right to interfere in my life? Didn’t they have more important things to worry about—like eternity, hell and brim fire, or something like that? Seriously.

  I thought I could feel the subtle sting of something like fire igniting inside me, barely flickering to life, shooting out sparks of emotion that initially fizzled out beneath a wad of self-pity. But the more I thought about that stupid note, the more my pity seemed to morph into anger. I was beginning to feel the urge to punch someone, or at least yell at them like Addie would’ve done.

  “Where’s Addie?” I asked Mom, who seemed to jump when I spoke. Addie had mysteriously disappeared without even saying goodbye. That seemed a bit odd.

  Mom shook her head. “I don’t know. She said she needed to fix a few things, and told me to tell you she’d be back in a little while.”

  “Fix a few things? Like with a hammer?” I asked, laughing a little, feeling a bit of the heaviness in my chest lifting.

  Mom’s face gave way to a hesitant smile, her teeth finally emerging from hiding inside a frown. “I don’t know. That’s just what she said before she left.”

  “Hmmm,” I mumbled, opening up my laptop, thinking Addie was probably up to something, thinking maybe I should be up to something, too. Anything but feeling sorry for myself.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asked as she massaged my shoulders, sending tingles up my neck. I was glad she was here with me.

  “I don’t know yet. Just trying to make sense of everything.”

  “On your computer?”

  “I guess.” Long story. Change of subject. “I’m starving, Mom. Is there anything to eat?” I tried to give her something else to do other than stress about me. She was always worrying…but now I was a little worried about her.

  “Sure,” she said in an upbeat tone. “I’ll start dinner.”

  When she left, I started Googling every possible word that I thought could have something to do with a car accident at the park I’d just returned from: Daniel Holland, Larkey Park, boy, dog, motorcycle accident.

  Nothing. Not a thing.

  Aghhhhh.

  I let my pulsing forehead fall into my lap, and massaged my scalp while trying to think… think… think… until I heard a car pulling into the driveway. I wasn’t excited about seeing the police again. They’d come last night, sometime between my fainting spell and the morning, and all I could remember about it now was trying to stay awake while being asked way too many questions.

  Two car doors slammed shut, followed by a trail of heavy footsteps scuffling up the walkway. Hoping to find something before I was summoned to my interrogation, I clicked on another website, a local news archive. A soft murmur of voices passed by my window, followed by a heavy knock at the front door as I waited, impatiently begging the glowing computer to give me something to make sense of my nightmare.

  There it was.

  Some local community newspaper, the kind that comes free in the mail. It had a small article dated from over twelve years ago, about a tragic accident at a neighborhood park involving a little boy and a motorcycle.

  MOTORCYCLIST KILLED AFTER BOY SAVES DOG

  Posted by the East Bay Gazette

  From staff reports

  A Hidden Lake teen died Monday after he was thrown from his motorcycle while swerving to avoid colliding with a child on a bike. The accident occurred at the northwest corner of Larkey Lane and Oakdale Drive, just north of Larkey Park, said officer Sadie Covington, a spokeswoman for Hidden Lake Police. The teenager, identified as Aden Sawyer, 18, of 665 Keely Drive, died at the scene.

  Sawyer was travelling well over the posted speed limit of 25 mph, witnesses say, as he took the turn onto Oakdale Drive. He lost control of his motorcycle when a young child on a two-wheeler entered the intersection to save his dog from the oncoming traffic. The unnamed child and his dog were not harmed.

  An investigation of the crash revealed that the rider, who was not wearing a helmet, had a blood alcohol limit above the .08 legal limit, and had a previous arrest for drug use.

  My heart pounded as I read the article. Aden Sawyer. Did knowing his full name make him more of a person, less of a monster? Not really. Not when I pictured him coming at me in the dark. I Googled his name, but nothing else came up. Not a single thing. He was as much a faceless name back then as he was now.

  “Claire.”

  I jumped.

  Mom was peeking her head beyond my bedroom door.

  “The police are here. So, whenever you’re ready,” she said with an encouraging smile.

  “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

  I stalled at my desk a second longer, trying to decide what to do next, digesting this new information. I wanted to tell Daniel what had really happened—what his memory never told him about Aden’s death but didn't know when, or if, Daniel was going to show up again.

  The image of Aden’s face and the sound of Peeping Tom’s voice were still mulling through my mind when I walked into the hallway and smacked right into Dad, who must’ve gotten home the same time the cops arrived. I jumped. Again.

  What was wrong with me? I’d become a walking bundle of nerves.Dad’s eyes seemed to smile as he hugged me. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Barely.” I didn’t want to leave the safety of his arms. “Dad, will you please come talk to the cops with me? I hate this.”

  “Sure,” he said, leading me into the living room, where the same pair of cops from last night waited for me—one with a dark, tight ponytail and wad of gum in her mouth, and the other with a scowl and dark shadows underlining his eyes.

  Mom and Dad sat on either side of me as I detailed last night’s drama all over again, plus the added bonus of what happened at the park this morning. The cops took turns eyeing me while taking notes on little pads of yellow paper.

  “Are you positive it was the same man as before, Miss James?” the lady cop asked, snapping on her gum. I looked at them both, suspecting they doubted my credibility because I was so young.

  “Yes,” I answered, this time fixing my eyes on the other cop, until he looked away with a frown and scribbled something onto his paper.

  “I understand you opened the letter?” he accused.

  “Well, it really isn’t a letter. It was just a folded piece of paper–”

  “Which you opened?”

  “Yes, but–”

  “Did your friend touch the letter?” he leaned toward me.

  I looked over at the lady, but her smile had been replaced by a scrutinizing stare. She seemed disappointed in me, like I’d deliberately done something wrong. I shifted around in my seat, staring at my fidgeting fingers. “No, but I–”

  “Claire is tired and understandably shaken,” Dad said, putting his arm around me. “We appreciate your compassion as you continue questioning her.”

  “She’s only sixteen,” Mom mumbled under her breath, reaching for my hand. I squeezed it right away.

  “Listen,” the cranky cop started to say, but then his buzzing walkie-talkie cut in, and he stood and clomped into the kitchen, ignoring us.

  “Why don’t you show me the paper?” the lady cop said politely. I really wanted to tell her to spit out the gum. It was driving me crazy.

  While Officer Grumpy mumbled back and forth into his radio, the rest of us went down the hall to my room. With gloved hands, Officer Gum-Chewer carefully placed the paper into a plastic bag, like it might explode any second. The reality of it all came back to me, so I excused myself to the bathroom to calm myself while keeping my fingers crossed that Daniel might show up. I stayed in there as long as possible without raising sus
picion of drug abuse or another fainting spell, and returned to find the two cops and my parents standing together at the front door. Quietly, I snuck up behind Mom. She turned and put her arm around me.

  Officer Grumpy's heavy lidded eyes stared down at me before turning towards Dad. “As I said before. We’ll do our best with this evidence, but we may not be able to find anything conclusive.”

  “Thank you,” Dad said graciously as he opened the door for them. He seemed particularly adept at dealing with ignoramuses (probably a lawyer thing).

  “Miss James,” the lady cop said, her voice sounding a little less severe. “We’ve already talked to your parents about various precautions you should be taking right now, but I just need to reiterate how careful you need to be. Report anything that seems suspicious, and call us immediately if you see him again, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  Mom flipped on the porch light as the cops walked to their car.

  “Did you see the way he looked at me?” I asked after Dad closed the door.

  “He’s just trying to do his job.” Dad put his hands on my shoulders and led me down the hall.

  “I agree with Claire. He was a jerk,” Mom said. I squeezed her hand, feeling more and more glad she was on my side. “Claire, I’m sure you’re starving. Let’s eat.”

  Smells of something homemade and delicious called us into the kitchen, where Dad ladled steaming chicken soup into our bowls. I loved it when Mom was in a domestic mood.

  “Being a jerk may be the only thing that can catch a bad guy,” Dad said, removing his tie and loosening his collar as we carried our bowls to the table. I rolled my eyes and slurped the soothing liquid while holding my face over the bowl. The steamy mist fogged up my glasses and warmed me from the inside out.

  “Or perhaps he’s a jerk because of the bad guys,” Dad added with a smile, but Mom and I just looked at him like he was nuts. “You never know,” he said, smiling again.

  We slurped our meal for a while in silence, when the faint electronic humming sound of the garage door broke into the quiet.

  Mom dropped her spoon with a clink. “That sounds like the garage door.”

  My heart thudded to a stop, as if the blood had been sucked out of me. Despite my earlier bout of confidence, the rush of fear easily found me again. I stared wide-eyed at my parents, imagining all the horrible possibilities that sound could mean.

  “Stay here,” Dad ordered, scooting his chair out and heading for the garage door. He stood poised at the door, his eyes focused on the knob. My hands clenched into fists on top of the table, and I felt my muscles tightening. Mom and I stared at each other, then at Dad, waiting for the worst.

  Where was Daniel?

  I guess it didn’t matter, because right then the knob turned and my stomach dove to the floor. When the door swung open, Dad attacked.

  Daniel

  He was studying me like some sort of science experiment. I looked past him to Felix, who was still mumbling to himself in the kitchen as he kicked through empty aluminum cans and piles of faded newspapers. He made his way over to the filthy countertop, pulling open drawers and cupboards, searching for who knows what.

  I turned back to Aden, whose dark eyes seemed to follow mine. He looked pale under the fluorescent lights, even sickly—contradicting his broad shoulders and jet-black mane that made him look something like a rock star.

  “Do you like my friend here?” he spoke, almost politely. “Felix is a real piece of work.”

  I didn’t answer, not sure yet whether he’d drawn me here purposely, or if Felix had unknowingly led me. It really didn’t matter; I was here, but had absolutely no idea what to do next.

  Aden drifted further into the grimy apartment, past Felix, who was now hunched over the stove, holding a small, filmy glass pipe in his hands.

  “He’s been pretty efficient, you know,” Aden said, eyeing Felix.

  “You got a crack head to do your bidding?”

  He laughed. “Isn’t that the best kind?”

  I gaped at him.

  “What? You think you’re the only one with special access to the living?” he said, lingering by a barred window off the kitchen.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Let’s just say he’s had one too many overdoses. There are lots of ways to die, you know.”

  I drifted away from him toward a dark hallway, trying to register the meaning in his words. “Felix isn’t dead.”

  “Neither is Claire. But she was, wasn’t she?”

  I glanced at Felix, who was stretched across the counter with his eyes closed, like he was off in some other place. “What kind of game are you playing?” I asked.

  “Game?” Aden said. “I’d hardly call this a game anymore. Not with what I have planned for your girlfriend.”

  I whipped my head around as he faded into the window behind him like he was about to shift away. I wasn’t ready for him to leave, not yet, and I flew across the room, reaching out just as he disappeared. Instantly, I felt something latch onto me, forcefully yanking me forward, like a magnet.

  My vision went blank for a second, and I suddenly found myself in Felix’s bedroom. A naked mattress lay next to a bench press and weight rack. I guessed the dumbbells explained Felix’s other pastime. Smoking crack and bodybuilding—a little counter-productive, if you asked me.

  I turned to Aden, who held onto me like a magnet. His eyes seemed fluorescent as he towed me along with him through the bed, into the closet and out the wall, pausing momentarily while hovering outside the apartment building above a parked car.

  “This is fun,” he grinned, before fading again, pulling me with him as we shifted back inside to the living room. Felix was now planted in a torn, mustard-colored armchair in front of a TV blaring with static and obnoxious voices. The screen flashed in and out as he mindlessly flipped the channels, his head glowing under the lights.

  Somehow Aden released me, and I felt a relieving sense of freedom.

  He slid in front of me and extended his hand, like we were meeting for the first time. “I don’t think we’ve ever formally met. I’m Aden.”

  I stared at him blankly until he finally got the picture, retracted his hand, and floated toward the window. He gazed out through the bars and clouded glass. “I don’t think you understand who I am,” he said before turning back to face me.

  “I know who you are now. I know what happened–”

  “Great. Then I suppose we can just skip this part.” He clasped his hands together, smiling.

  “Look, I know you’re pissed off at me for what happened. I get it. But what do you expect me to do about it now? I’m dead, too, in case you haven’t figured it out.”

  His smile dissolved into a frown, and he seemed to lose his composure before quickly readjusting and continuing. “The problem is, you want everything to instantly iron itself out without any effort or pain on your part. That’s how you’ve lived your whole life—the boy who had everything, who never had to lift a finger.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  His mind seemed to drift for a minute as his eyes bounced back and forth from me to the window to me again. “So let’s just get right to the solution. Is that what you want? Some neat little fix so I’ll quietly go away?”

  I almost said ‘yes,’ but before I could respond, blurred colors were trailing behind him like contrails from a jet as he flew at me, pinning me to the floor. A flimsy aluminum lamp toppled over, breaking a pile of dirty dishes and throwing a pyramid of soda cans across the room. Somehow Aden had pinned me to the ground. There wasn’t any pain, but I could feel a distinct pressure at my shoulders and thighs where he held me. His face, only inches from mine, seemed to ooze outrage. How he was doing it completely baffled me. It was like he was dead and alive at the same time.

  A strange squealing noise started coming from the corner by the TV. I turned and caught sight of Felix, who was crouched on the floor and peering around with bug-eyes. He
was making a moaning noise that sounded like a mix between an injured dog and an asthma attack, and held his hands over his ears, like he could hear us.

  He could.

  “You don’t want to look at me?” Aden asked through gritted teeth, pressing his face into mine so far that I had to close my eyes because of the dizzy claustrophobia. “You sniveling, selfish brat,” he hissed, releasing his grip. “Shut up and pay attention for once in your petty, useless existence.”

  I sunk to the floor where he’d dropped me, overwhelmed by his power.

  “I am Aden,” he repeated, like I hadn’t heard the first time. But it was difficult focusing now, because Felix was scratching at his arms and mumbling to himself. Aden didn’t seem to care or even notice. “Did you hear me?” he asked, waiting for me. “ADEN!” he screamed, leaping forward and through me, the stream of color following him like before, but this time without the force that threw me to the ground.

  Felix looked in our direction and pushed himself against the wall, holding his knees, and shivering. He was breathing heavily, almost panting —a high-pitched whistle coming from his throat.

  “You are the reason I’m dead.” Aden’s face smothered mine before he pulled away and relaxed into the back of the couch, partially submerged. “You took everything away from me—all because you forgot to look both ways.”

  “I was just a kid.”

  “Just a kid,” he repeated in a funny high voice, trying to mimic me. “Just a kid…”

  “What do you want?” I was suddenly fuming. “If I could take it back, I would. You want me to say sorry? I’M SORRY!” I flew at him, the anger driving me.

  He laughed and pulled backward, leaving me panting. “Don’t you feel it now? What a rush! You should feel what it’s like after a haunting! It’s the only power you’ll ever get in this place.”

  I froze, trying to digest what he’d just said, shifting my gaze to Felix, who was still in the corner with his head buried in his knees. The TV continued buzzing in and out, the reception fighting for survival.