The Scarlet Thread

by D. S. Murphy

  2

  The first time I saw death I was five years old. My mother was pregnant with Charlie, my little brother, and my parents sent me next door to play with the neighbor’s daughter, Michelle, who was two years older than me. She mostly invented role-plays which featured her as queen and me as servant girl, so she could boss me around. In the afternoon, her mother walked me home and grabbed my hand to cross the street.

  That’s when I saw her, lying in a hospital bed, her eyes wide as she tried to wheeze another breath. Her strength left her and the blips from the machine near her body turned into one solid beeeeeeeeeeep. I remember smelling chemicals and urine. Two weeks later my mother explained to me that Michelle's mom had died and Michelle was moving away to live with her father in another state.

  The next time it was a classmate in Kindergarten. I told him he was going to fall from a tree and break his head open on the sidewalk. I described the yellow shirt and blue pants he was wearing. When he wouldn’t listen, I drew a picture of the scene to the best of my abilities. I used a lot of red crayon, all around his head, to show the blood. That’s when the trips to the psychologist started.

  I began to understand that something was wrong with me—that normal people don’t see other people’s deaths before they happen. So when the psychologist asked me every week whether I still saw people dying, I started saying no.

  Eventually I learned, if I touched someone and saw their death, they were going to die within a few months. I didn’t know exactly when. I just knew how. But I also learned that people got mad at me when I talked about it. So I started wrapping my hands up in my sleeves and avoiding contact with people. With this new habit, I went several years without seeing anyone die. My parents thought I’d gotten better. I was just better at hiding it.

  One day I was wrestling at home with Charlie, and saw him get hit by a red car at the park near our house. I begged my parents to move to another town. I screamed for days. The visits to the psychologist resumed. My parents fought at night about what was wrong with me, and how to fix it. But this time I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t seen anything. This was my little brother. I was fighting to save his life. I just had to make everybody understand. So I investigated. I grabbed his arm, trying to hold onto the vision, trying to slow it down and absorb every detail. I drew pictures of the car. I knew it was a Toyota Corolla—I skipped school one day to visit a car lot and check—but I couldn’t see the license plate, no matter how many times I looked.

  They put me on medication that made me feel slow. They said I had a morbid fascination with death, and was acting out for attention. That’s when I realized it was up to me. I was the only one who could save him. So I followed him around everywhere. I walked him to every class. I never let him out of my sight. I threw a tantrum every time we went to the park, but they dragged me there anyway—it was the only one near the house, and they thought it would be good for me. To prove to me that nothing bad would happen.

  I tried to keep Charlie in the exact middle of the park, playing some game that kept us seated the whole time. But one day, a pair of older boys were kicking a soccer ball, and it rolled past us, and Charlie jumped up and chased after it. I raced after him. I felt like I was in a game of Duck Duck Goose—trying to catch him before he made it around the circle. My arms outstretched, I missed him by inches as he stepped out into the street and was hit by the car I’d seen months before. I watched, horrified, as his little body flew fifteen feet forward and slammed into the concrete with a sickening crunch. Then I sunk onto the curb and started sobbing.

  I felt the guilt in an abstract sense. He was dead because I saw that red Toyota Corolla coming—two and a half months before it actually hit him. Even with all that time I’d failed to stop it from happening. I killed him. Not literally, but I still felt like it was somehow my fault.

  My parents had a different take on things. Since I was obviously bat shit crazy, and had been talking about how Charlie was going to get hit by a red car for months, and since eye witnesses had seen me run towards him at full speed with my arms out in front of me, they all assumed I’d pushed him.

  Everybody believed that I killed my little brother, just to prove I could see the future. That I was a twisted, sick, monster of a child who couldn’t be allowed to go to public school anymore. My mother couldn’t handle the looks people gave her, or how they pulled their children away from me when they saw us coming. My father started locking their bedroom door at night. They were afraid of me. Afraid of what else I might do.

  That’s how I ended up here. It’s probably where I belong. After dozens of appointments with JDRI’s resident psychiatrist, Pam Miller, I wasn’t even sure I hadn’t pushed my brother. Was I mis-remembering what happened? I had to be—as everyone kept telling me, seeing the future was impossible. And even if I had really seen Charlie’s death, that probably meant I’d somehow caused it, so I was guilty either way. In the last few years, I started having more questions. In witnessing someone's death, did I seal their fate? Would it inevitably happen afterwards, or could it still be changed? But it wasn’t exactly something that could be tested. If I knew about someone’s death, and said nothing, didn’t that make me responsible? The best practice was to keep my hands covered and my head down. I don’t let people touch me anymore. Not my fingertips, not my skin, not my heart.

  Normally I’d be on one of several work shifts in the morning and then choose between a number of activities or self-study classes in the afternoon. But since I was temporarily excused from normalcy, I snuck outside into the small courtyard and sat down against the single tree on the property, a sprawling oak. Just past the perimeter fence was forest of cedars, with long pine needles that turned brown and fell like snow in the autumn. The fence was more decorative than functional—if we really wanted to slip out or run away, it wasn’t that hard. But the few who had tried, begged to be let back in. JDRI wasn’t that bad of a place to be, all things considered. A teenage girl with no address and no income can only do so many things on the streets to survive, and none of them ended happily.

  I brought a book with me, but I kept reading the same lines over and over. I couldn’t get the mysterious visitor out of my mind. Did he bring that kitten just to test my reaction? Did that mean he believed me—or was he just confirming how crazy I was? Maybe my parents had been thinking of letting me come home, and had sent him to check whether I was ready. And I’d blown it.

  I didn’t hear the footsteps approach until a shadow fell across my lap. I looked up to see a man in a guard uniform with an underachieving, scraggly beard. I hadn’t seen him before.

  “Hey sexy,” he smiled with a grin that made my blood run cold.

  I looked around and was suddenly aware of how quiet it was. I could hear the limbs creaking in the wind above me, and the caw of a crow flying overhead. I wondered if any of the other staff could see us. But a guard wouldn’t use inappropriate language like that if anybody else was around. He knew we were alone.

  “I heard you liked books,” he said, squatting down beside me. “I thought maybe we could make a trade,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “You know, you rub my back, I rub yours?”

  He smiled lewdly. Apparently, he’d taken this job to hit on girls who couldn’t run away. And unfortunately, it could have worked… on another girl. We don’t have much interaction with the opposite sex here, and many girls might have been willing to rub his “back” in exchange for an expensive gift or favor. I wasn’t one of them.

  “You don’t look like you know your way around a good book,” I said. “Or a woman, for that matter,” I added quietly.

  “You’ll change your tune, once you get to know me,” he said.

  Where do they find these guys?

  “Now be a good girl and—”

  “Didn’t they tell you?” Jessie said, walking up behind us. “Kaidance is one of the worst offenders in here.”

  I smiled at her in relief. The guard glanced at her, then looked back at me skep
tically. My thin arms and wrists made me look frail. An easy target for abuse.

  “A literal man-eater, if you know what I mean, Dennis,” she continued, reading his name off his name tag. “She cut off her boyfriend’s junk and fried it up like a sausage. That’s how she ended up here. I’d watch out if I were you.”

  Dennis’s eyes widened and he leaned away from me a bit. I smiled at him—the mad dog smile with the twitching right eye it had taken me months to perfect. And then very carefully, I licked my lips, in a way I hoped was both sexy and terrifying. He stood up and leered at the both of us, his fingers tracing the handle of the Taser on his utility belt.

  “Whatever,” he said finally. “Just trying to be friendly.”

  “Try somewhere else,” Jessie said, holding up her middle finger.

  “You haven’t had to save me from creeps for a long time,” I said, as we watched Dennis disappear into the main building.

  “Yeah, a month or two at least. Either they’ve dropped their hiring standards, or you’re just getting too cute for your own good,” Jessie teased.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So, it’s Saturday.” She brushed the ground next to me before sitting down.

  “Again?” I asked.

  “Yup, don’t be surprised. Comes every week.”

  “Don’t give me that—I mean, another party, right?”

  “Well, I got a note from Ryan, that guy we met a couple of weeks back. He sent me a letter asking me to a party. How sweet is that?”

  We weren’t allowed phones in JDRI. People could call us, but they might monitor the calls. And they’d open any packages. But they don’t read our mail. We’re teenage girls, not terrorists. The staff probably already knew about the hole in the fence surrounding the main buildings, the one we used to sneak out at night. They just didn’t care enough to fix it.

  “He’s going to pick you up?”

  “Us up.” She corrected. “But no, he isn’t—it’s a cemetery party.”

  I wrinkled my nose.

  Past the hole in the fence, through the cedar forest, was a road. Sometimes girls would hitchhike to town in the back of a pickup truck, or have a guy pick them up in exchange for a hand job. On the other side of the road was a cemetery.

  “A party in a cemetery seems crazy. Even for us.”

  “No, it’s cool,” Jessie said. “It’s a Halloween party. It’s perfect.”

  “Go without me,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “Absolutely not. You’re going and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop it. You’ll be eighteen soon. You’ve got to learn how to survive in the real world. Think of it as practice.”

  She had a point. Once released, I’d be expected to take care of myself. I was already dreading the thought of job interviews. I was painfully bad at small talk.

  “We don’t have costumes,” I said.

  “It’s casual,” Jessie said, with a triumphant grin. She knew she’d won. “Besides, I made you something in arts and crafts.” She pulled a dark bundle out of her bag and held it up to her face. It was a mask, made of sleek black feathers and paper mache. The curved beak hung down over her nose.

  “How many birds did you have to kill to make that?” I asked.

  “Just one,” she said. “But I didn’t kill it. We found a dead raven near the fence, and they let me use it. Turns out I can look forward to a promising career in taxidermy.”

  “So you want me to wear a dead bird on my face so you can go hang out with a cute boy?” I asked. Jessie smiled her most beguiling smile, and batted her eyelids in pretend pleading.

  “When do we leave?” I sighed.

  3

  After my brother died, I spent a lot of time at his grave. The cemetery was a few miles outside of town, and I rode my bicycle there every chance I got. That was before they pulled me out of school, and before I got sent to JDRI. I picked flowers to put on the grave, and sometimes split my lunch with him. What I’m trying to say is, cemeteries remind me of my dead brother. And I don’t need reminding.

  “I’m going home,” I said, crossing my arms as we approached the black iron gate, and the granite headstones and marble statues behind it.

  “Stay an hour, then we’ll discuss it,” Jessie said, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward. “It’s Halloween after all. And you look great.” Jessie had rubbed charcoal all around my eyes, which made my eyes even more startling.

  Sarah tied my dark hair into a bird’s nest of a bun, with tangles and spikes and long feathers jutting out to the sides. Then she pinned the mask so it rested on my forehead. She’d begged us to let her come, but she was only eleven. Way too young for a party. Plus, if we got caught sneaking out, the punishment would be way worse if Sarah was with us.

  I’d put on a pair of jeans and the same patchwork sweater I’d been wearing all day. As we entered the cemetery, I wished I had an amazing black dress like I’d seen in fashion magazines, with sequins that glittered in the moonlight. I imagined the long tails floating silently behind me, hovering just above the cold dirt, as I drifted, like death, among the gravestones.

  The party was a mix of kids from JDRI and some local kids who weren’t afraid to mix it up with us nutters. Most people were wearing cheap plastic masks or funny clothes, but nobody was seriously dressed up. Then later, more people arrived, until it was mostly townies. I realized suddenly that this was the first real teenage party I’d ever been to, where the majority of attendees were just regular kids. It was a good chance to meet people who didn’t act like they were waiting for you to pull out a knife and stab them.

  JDRI was co-ed, but the boys were in a separate wing. We had occasional mixers and social events, and even some shared classes or rooms, but the pickings were slim. There were a couple decent looking guys, but of course they all had baggage, and they’d hook up with whichever girl made it easy for them. I wasn’t in the habit of throwing myself at guys, and with my reputation, few boys dared to even talk to me. Not that I was obsessed with boys or anything. But it’s not like there was much else to think about.

  Somebody brought boxed wine and plastic cups, and cranked up the radio. Jessie found Ryan, and introduced me to Ryan’s friend Paul. Then she and Ryan said they were going to get another drink and disappeared. I knew I was being set up when Paul started asking me boring questions about JDRI. At first I tried to be civil, but he quickly got on my nerves. I was at a party, why couldn’t I pretend to be normal? At least he didn’t ask me why my parents abandoned me, or why I’d killed my brother. Paul made a good effort, but eventually my scowl and monosyllable answers wore away his confidence. He mumbled something about finding his friend and left me standing by myself. I refilled my plastic cup and sipped it from the shadows.

  Dozens of candles in big glass jars were scattered around the area—on top of headstones and nestled between tree branches. They cast little orbs of light that were both charming and ominous. They’d even used the candles to make a big skull and bones symbol on the ground. Ryan and Jessie came back and I was just starting to have fun when I felt someone staring at me.

  I turned and saw a guy just outside the ring of kids, leaning against a tall, narrow tombstone with a cross on top. His hair was so blond it looked white in the darkness, and his eyes were an unusual golden amber that flickered in the candlelight. I broke eye contact and tried to ignore him, but when I glanced back he was still looking at me. No, more than that. He was glaring at me. I could feel his gaze against my skin, scraping like sandpaper. It gave me goosebumps. I waited for him to smile or wave or something, but his face was expressionless. He was just sitting there, watching me, like a creepy statue.

  Finally I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I’m going to head back,” I said to Jessie.

  “Already?” she said, frowning. She’d been flirting with Ryan, and now they were holding hands. It made me feel lonely, which made me feel stupid. She’d dragged me here, but I didn’t want to ruin her night.

  “It’
s cool, I’ll walk back myself. You should stay.”

  “You sure?” she asked, looking at me and then back at Ryan.

  “It’s a short walk. I’ll be fine.”

  Ryan whispered something in her ear, and she laughed.

  “Okay, be safe,” Jessie said.

  “You too,” I answered, giving her a pointed look. “Knock when you get in. Be back before midnight or I’ll eat Ryan’s liver.” He gulped as I made slurping noises.

  I turned around to hide my smile, then walked across the street and into the woods. I hadn’t gone far when a shadow startled me. I looked up to see a figure blocking my path. It was that weird blond kid again. How had he gotten in front of me? I thought about rejoining the party, but that would be silly. And I wasn’t far, I could still hear music and voices. I could scream if I had to. I crossed my arms and soldiered forward.

  “Can I help you?” I asked coldly as I stomped towards him. He looked surprised for a moment, as if he thought he’d been hiding, instead of standing in the middle of the path. His leather pants were black, but his white T-shirt stood out like a beacon in the dark forest around us. Up close, he was tall. In the moonlight his skin was almost as white and pale as his hair, and I could see the black lines of a tattoo wrapping around both of his forearms. I wondered if it connected in the middle of his back, then pictured him naked, which made blood rush through my body.

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “I was just… watching.”

  “Yeah I saw that. Stalk much?”

  Somehow I could still see the honey color of his eyes. They shone like a predator’s in the darkness. I shivered, and my skin tingled.

  “I’m just looking for somebody. A friend. I thought they might be here.” In the middle of the woods? Not likely.

  “Got stood up, huh? Don’t sweat it. Anyway, I’m headed back to… back home,” I said, stepping around him. I didn’t feel like explaining I was going to sneak back into a juvenile detention center.