But of course I have to. I want to know. I want to know how I can help. If I can ever help.
“He took the knife and stabbed her multiple times. I can still hear those sounds, a blunt sound over and over again, a sound that makes me sick. That was when I went into my closet and shut the door. Of course there was no way to hide, not really. Little did I know it wasn’t my father I needed to be frightened of anymore. It was what he was about to do.”
Suddenly Marvel starts to cry, holding her face in her hands and letting everything spill out. I can’t help moving over to her and putting my hand on her arm.
“Marvel—it’s okay—you don’t have to keep telling me.”
“I didn’t know my little sister Mirage was in the house. I thought she was at a friend’s. But after I smelled the gas I heard her scream. I tried to get out of the closet, but I couldn’t. For some reason—well, I know why now—I couldn’t open the door. I tried and tried, and she kept screaming and then everything just blew up around me. The entire place went up in flames. I was on the second floor and I couldn’t get out.”
She shakes, her eyes puffy and red, the tears still streaming down.
“I was coughing and couldn’t breathe, and I knew I was going to die just like my mother and probably my sister. I cried out and pounded on the door but it wasn’t enough. Until suddenly, everything changed. Every single thing changed, Brandon. And the only way to describe it to you—the only way to sum it up—is to compare it to what happened at Lollapalooza in the middle of the show. When everything changed.”
Marvel takes in a nervous breath, swallows, then keeps talking.
“I suddenly could open the door, and all I saw were flames around me. Surrounding me. They were hot and full of black smoke but I wasn’t being burned, and I wasn’t coughing anymore. I watched from the closet but I was protected. I was safe. Not a single hair on my head was singed.”
She wipes her eyes and her cheeks, then looks at me with that intense stare I’ve seen so many times. The one that always seemed to hold secrets and carry weight. Now I know why. Now I really know why.
“In this closet, as my house burned down all around me, and as the only family I knew were being burned with it, I heard God talk to me. The same way God talked to Moses through the burning bush. Except in this case, the bush was my house. In this case, it was my life.”
I don’t dare speak. I believe every word she says. It doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t have to, not now. Right now I’m simply listening. Processing will come later. My skin feels like it’s buzzing.
“The voice was something I’d never heard in my life. It was both something I feared and something I loved. It was the voice of a father talking to his daughter the way a father should talk. Warning her, but in a loving way. Commanding her. Telling her why she was being rescued. Telling her the reason.
“In that moment, God said this to me. He told me I would be used for his power and his glory. That I would be used in an awe-inspiring way. I remember him speaking my name, Brandon. I know how it sounds—I mean, I can only imagine. But God spoke and he said my name, and I began to cry because I’d been waiting for that voice to talk to me my whole life. I’d been waiting for this moment and it was terrifying and it was awful, but I knew I was okay. I knew I was loved. I knew I was protected.”
Marvel smiles and wipes the tears off her face. She sees my expression and reaches over to grab my hand. To comfort me.
“God told me I was going to go somewhere and I was going to do something special. He said I would be his instrument. He said I shouldn’t be afraid, but that I would be used in an incredible way. He said I’d save others from something.”
For a second she pauses and looks at me, wanting me to hear exactly what she’s saying.
“And then he said I would die being used in this way.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to respond.
“Then I found myself on the street beside our burning building, protected but coughing and black with the smoke I’d been inhaling. I don’t know how I got out of there, but I got out. I mean, I know who got me out. But how, I’m not sure.
“And I know—I know, before all the questions or comments or whatever you might have—there was one final thing God told me. He said he would find a helper for me. That eventually, someone would come to help me. That was it. And Brandon—I really believe that person is you.”
“Me?”
I’m a bit shocked to hear how I fit into this story.
“I believe you’re the one.”
I always had hoped Marvel might say those words. But now they have a far different meaning.
I swallow. “I want to do whatever I can.”
“I know this sounds crazy.”
I nod. “Yes, it does.”
“Do you believe me?”
I keep nodding. “Yeah. I’m trying to.”
“The question isn’t whether it will happen, Brandon. The question is when. And how.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“What? You don’t understand?”
“No, I’m sorry—I’m so, so sorry, Marvel. For what you had to go through. For everything.”
“Thank you.”
The tears start to flow again.
“I’m sorry and I just want you to know I’m here,” I tell her. “Okay? For whatever. To help or to hurt someone or to just hang out with you.”
“Very brave of you.”
“I hate people picking on others.”
She smiles. “My Father is bigger than any other father who might come our way. My God is bigger than any of this. I saw it firsthand. I felt it. I heard Him. In the middle of a dark hell I saw amazing light and heard an incredible sound. I’m not scared. Well, I am a bit, but not the way I should be.”
“I just want to be at your side. For whatever happens. For whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” Marvel says. “Thank you for not interrupting and not treating me like a crazy person.”
“Tomorrow might be a different story,” I joke.
“Then I’ll stay away for a day or two.”
“Don’t stay away. For anything.”
I hold her and hear the continued storm outside raging. We hug each other for a moment, then Marvel moves and faces me.
“I hope you’re ready,” she says.
“Ready for what?”
She glances out the window and hears the crackle of lightning. “For anything.”
I stare at that face and know I’m ready for anything. For a crazy girl making up a story or for a fortunate girl figuring out her life. It doesn’t matter, because I’m here for her. I’m here and plan on being here as long as she’ll let me be here.
As long as Marvel wants me to be here. And yes, maybe, possibly, even God, too.
There’s more that I want to say, that I need to say, that I need to do, that I want to do, but suddenly the door opens and we see a completely wet Harry come in.
Marvel smiles and wipes her eyes.
I look at her and whisper, “To be continued.”
I’m riding my bike home in the dark and the rain, and all I can think about are Marvel’s words. Her story. The whole, complete story. I picture her hiding in her closet, the madman below lighting himself and the rest of the family on fire. I see her protected and talked to by God. It’s crazy, I know it’s totally crazy. Maybe she made up the whole thing in her mind to block out the pain of what happened with her mother and sister, but I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I think of all the years I’ve blocked out what’s gone on with my father, the hurt and awful pain he’s brought me night after night. The fear of doing something wrong or slipping up and being completely terrorized. I think of how many years I’ve lived in this hell without anybody to tell or any kind of hope.
Then Marvel walked through the door.
The rain comes down hard, but I don’t care. I have a nagging feeling that has nothing to do with bullies or bad guys o
r dead bodies or crashed cars or awful things we can’t talk about.
I shouldn’t be going home. I need to go back to the store and tell Marvel how I’m feeling. I don’t want to wait another night. Because tomorrow might not be there.
There might be some stalker up ahead waiting to jump out at me and finally do what he’s been wanting to do for a long time. I might end up in the Fox River without any leads or motives or anything for the cops.
I don’t want to go to bed without telling Marvel what I need to tell her. I can’t wait. I need to tell her, and I need to tell her face-to-face.
I turn the bike around and start pedaling as if my very life depended on it.
By the time I get back to the store, she’s waiting in front of the building under the little awning by the Fascination Street sign. Her ride must be coming soon. I’m a sopping mess, but I don’t care. I get off my bike and lean it against the side of the building. Lightning lights up the sky, followed by a blast of thunder.
“Brandon!” she says in surprise.
“I needed to come back. To tell you something.”
The rain falls, and the door is closed and probably locked. Marvel stands there by the building with wet hair and sad eyes.
“Just hear me out,” I say.
I face her and take her hands. For a moment, she hesitates. “No.”
“I don’t care what happens,” I tell her. “I don’t care what’s meant to happen or what your destiny is supposed to be. I’m crazy about you, Marvel.”
“You don’t understand. . . .”
“And neither do you. Do you? You believe this . . . this thing, but you don’t know when it will happen and you don’t know what it will be. So let me stand by you. Let me help you. Marvel—let me love you.”
She shakes her head, tries pulling away, yet I still hold those hands. “Brandon . . .”
“No. I knew. I knew the moment you walked through those doors. I’ve known ever since all the crazy, weird stuff has been happening. I knew the moment you held my hand and we saw those fireworks going off. Don’t tell me it’s not there. I know you feel the same. I know it.”
“But it doesn’t—it shouldn’t matter. . . .”
I move closer and hold her in my arms. “But it does matter.”
I lean down and kiss her. It feels right, and it definitely matters. Marvel doesn’t pull away. She gives me a gentle, affirming kiss that is worth every single moment of waiting this whole summer.
When I step back to look at her, I can’t tell whether she’s crying. But she has regret and fear on her face. Thunder roars above us.
“The sky can fall and I’m going to stand next to you, Marvel.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t want this to happen. I told myself over and over it couldn’t happen. That there shouldn’t be an us. That we shouldn’t be.”
“It happened. Okay? I’m here.”
I take hold of her hand again and bring her closer to me. We kiss again.
The storm continues to rage above us, but we’re standing here together. The sky might truly fall, but we have found each other.
Mom bought pizza, and she made it a point to have all of us sitting around the table. We’re wolfing it down when she tells us what’s up.
“Your father is coming home tomorrow,” she says.
Suddenly I’m not in the mood to eat. Both of my brothers basically look the same way.
“I want us all to make him feel like nothing has happened,” Mom says. “He’s had a rough time since losing his job, and he’s working through a lot of things.”
Something inside makes me want to cough up this piece of pepperoni pizza. Maybe it’s Mom telling me to act like “nothing happened.” Besides, of course, my almost dying in a car accident because Dad was drunk. Maybe it’s Mom saying Dad’s had a “rough time” and that he’s “working through a lot of things.” I’d love to tell her the truth about rough times and working through things.
“Is he here to stay?” Alex asks.
“Yes, he’s here to stay.”
“Where’d he go anyway?” Carter asks.
“A place you go to when you drink all day long,” Alex tells him.
“A place to get better,” Mom says.
A place that’s a Band-Aid on a big, gaping wound that’s never going to heal.
“Brandon, are you okay with your father coming home?”
I nod. I’m tired more than anything. Tired of acting, tired of hiding. I’d love to say how I really feel. But I don’t. I just nod and eat some more pizza.
“Things are going to get better,” Mom says. “Once your father finds where he needs to be, things will be better.”
I wonder how a woman more than twice as old as I am can be so utterly clueless. But then again, I’m kind of clueless too. In other ways. In lots of other ways. And I’m glad Mom is clueless. Just because.
“Two kids have died this summer, and it makes me realize life is short. We need to accept each other for who we are. Your father—he’s going to change. He’s promised me that.” Mom looks at me. “Things are going to get better,” she says.
Yeah. Okay. I smile and nod and act like I believe her. But I don’t and I never will.
I’m midway through cutting a lawn at a house west of the Fox River when I see a cop car drive past and slow down. He stops in front of the house, and I see a hand gesturing me toward him. I wonder if I’m in trouble, even though I haven’t done a thing. That’s just the feeling I get whenever I see a cop car.
“You’re Brandon Jeffrey, right?”
I nod, suddenly worried that something happened to Mom or one of my brothers.
“Everything’s fine, don’t worry,” the cop says.
When I get up close I recognize the man. It’s Sergeant Harden. He’s got short, blond hair and a square face, and looks like he could’ve been in the military or a frat house, or both. He’s no-nonsense, but he seems friendly. And something in the way he said “Don’t worry” makes me do exactly that.
“Had a crazy midnight drive the other night, didn’t you?” he asks.
I nod.
“I’m Mike Harden. I know your parents a bit. Listen—you’ve got friends around here, okay? You need anything, you let me know. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say with a hoarse voice.
He glances at me as if waiting on me to say something. But nothing comes. He looks at the lawn.
“Maybe I should get you to cut my lawn, though it’s the end of the summer.”
“I’m always looking for new business,” I tell him.
“Yeah. Good for you. Look, Brandon. You know two dead kids showed up in the river this summer, right?”
“Yeah.”
A bit hard not to know.
“You be on the lookout, okay? And do me a favor. Keep an eye on your buddy Devon. He’s a bit too curious for his own good.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say.
I wonder if Devon finally went and talked to him, but I’m guessing he didn’t. I’m guessing he’s still a bit scared because of the pot he bought from Artie. I probably would be too.
“Do you guys know anything more about what happened?” I ask.
Mike gives me a hard look. “I know this world can be mean and dangerous. I just—I’m thankful for my family. And I worry about them. I worry about kids like you.”
I guess even if he did know something, he couldn’t tell me.
“Take care of yourself, Brandon.”
“Okay.”
He drives off, leaving me standing alone on the lawn. I look around and wonder if someone is watching me. I wonder if someone knows where I am at any given point of the day. I wonder if they watch from behind trees and curtains and tinted windows.
I glance around at the neighboring houses. Suddenly I feel afraid, more afraid than I have all summer long. But this time it’s not for me. I’m not thinking about who’s going to jump out of the dark or who’s watching me.
I’m worried for Marvel. I’m
worried that I’m not near her, watching over her.
If there’s anything I can do—anything I can try to do—I’m going to do it. Maybe she’s crazy, maybe this is all in her mind. But if it’s not, I want to help. I want to do more than help. A lot more than help.
I want to change whatever she’s supposed to do. I want to be there to save her. I don’t know how and when and where. I don’t know what any of it means. But I’m going to know.
Given enough time, I’m going to find out if she really did hear from God. And if it was God she heard from, I’m going to ask her to tell him to talk to me.
’Cause I have some questions for him. Lots and lots of questions.
I see him from my bedroom window. I’ve been up here waiting to hear the sound of a car and watching to see the opening door. Dad looks the same. He’s shaved and his hair is combed back and his eyes don’t look demonic, but he’s the same. Mom climbs out of the driver’s side, since Dad won’t be driving for a while. They walk toward the front of the house, disappearing from view.
My heart beats fast enough to win a Kentucky Derby. I want to throw up. I want to climb out of this window and take off. I want to do anything but go downstairs and see him. I don’t want to tell him hello and I don’t want to start the whole act again.
My skin feels like poison ivy that needs to be scratched and scratched until it’s bloody and raw and open.
I think of Marvel’s confession to me and what she said about hearing God.
But God spoke and he said my name, and I began to cry because I’d been waiting for that voice to talk to me my whole life. I’d been waiting for this moment and it was terrifying and it was awful, but I knew I was okay. I knew I was loved. I knew I was protected.
My body shivers. I want to cry, but I honestly don’t think I can. All I know is that I’ve been waiting for so long. I’ve been waiting, but nothing is different. I’m not okay. I’m not loved.
And God isn’t going to protect me from that monster who just walked back through the door of our house. Maybe he’ll make everybody think he’s changed but on some dark night will lash out again. And when he does, maybe I’ll finally have the guts to do what I need to do. Maybe I will show him I’m okay, that I don’t need love, that I can protect myself.
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