Glimpse

by Steve Whibley

  Professor Meyers picked up the story. “In 1986, there was a disaster at the nuclear power plant in Chernobyl.”

  “That actually does ring a bell,” Lisa said.

  “Apparently a member of the Congregatio de Sacrificio went to the power plant before the incident and insisted there was going to be some kind of accident. She demanded to speak to the plant foreman.”

  Colin leaned in. “She knew it was going to explode?”

  “It’s a story… it’s not true.” She regarded each of us carefully. “You guys understand that, right?” A moment passed before she continued. “No, the story is that she knew that the two men maintaining the reactor were going to die and that they were going to die together.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “She told them they had twenty-four hours?”

  “That I don’t know. But according to what I’ve heard, she tried everything to stop the two men from going to work. She was convinced she could save them and possibly millions of others.”

  “Well?” Colin prodded. “Did she do it? Did she save them?”

  “Evidently not,” Professor Meyers said. “You studied the unit in school, so I’ll assume you got to the part where the reactor exploded and millions of people were killed, injured, or poisoned.”

  “Right,” Colin said, “of course. Yeah, I knew that.”

  “What about the woman?” Lisa asked. “What happened to her?”

  “That’s where the story ends.” Professor Meyers paused again before continuing. “I really need you three to understand that this is myth. There’s no real, tangible, firsthand knowledge of this group. What we know comes from rumors, secondhand stories, and conjecture. They… the Congregatio de Sacrificio… appeared to be in the business of preserving life. Some cultural anthropologists have suggested that members of the society were given a gift that helped them know who was in danger. Or that they inherited some kind of warning system that told them when an incident was seconds away from happening.”

  The visions, I thought. They’re a pretty clear warning…

  “A gift?” Colin asked. He looked disappointed. “Are you sure it wasn’t a curse?”

  “Um, well, I don’t know how successful a secret society would be if they kept cursing their members. But it is possible.”

  “How do they get rid of it?” Lisa asked. “The curse… er… I mean the gift.”

  “From what I gather, they can’t. There are rumors that they eventually passed on the gift to someone worthy, moments from death.”

  “Passed it on? How?” Lisa asked.

  “Now that’s where the stories tend to differ. I’ve heard that it’s passed with a touch and a single word.” She brushed her hands together. “Other accounts say there needs to be blood. I’m sure there’s more to it than that. These secret societies tend to have lavish ceremonies for all kinds of things.”

  My mind flashed to when I had helped Mr. Vidmar. He had grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip. And he had coughed blood all over my Green Day T-shirt. And the word…

  “Glimpse,” I said, without thinking.

  That’s when it happened again.

  Professor Meyers was leaning forward with a curious expression, and suddenly I had another vision. The next victim was crouched on top of Professor Meyers’s desk. Her face was as twisted as the others—just as horrified and just as desperate. And the scream that came through her lips turned my blood to ice. I recoiled and stumbled against the door. But at least I had the sense to clasp a hand over my mouth to partially stifle my own shriek. Like the others, she was gone as suddenly as she had appeared.

  I glanced at the professor—she had recoiled in her chair, her mouth gaped and arms crossed over her chest as if in self-defense. She looked utterly horrified by my display. I lunged for the door and ran down the hall, bursting out of the building and collapsing to my knees on the steps outside.

  I glanced at my watch. “Two twenty-three,” I muttered to myself, committing the time to memory.

  A few second later, Colin and Lisa burst from the building and rushed to my side. “Who… who was it?” Lisa’s voice hitched. She and Colin looked equally pale.

  “Becky,” I said. “It was Becky. My sister’s going to die in twenty-four hours.”

  Chapter 22

  “She’s not going to die,” Lisa said. “We’re not going to let it happen. We can stop it.”

  “We can?” Colin asked.

  “Yes. We can.”

  I stopped listening as soon as Lisa and Colin started arguing. My sister’s contorted face was seared into my mind. I thought about Mr. Utlet. We had done everything right. We stopped the robbers from killing him, we called the police, we did everything… and for what? He still died. He was still gunned down and not even by the bad guys.

  There was something else. That moment just before the police shot him. I closed my eyes to remember. He was standing in the beams of light, and for a fraction of a second, I had imagined what the officers were seeing. I remembered fighting the urge to run out and shield Mr. Utlet from the bullets. And all at once it hit me.

  “I was going to die!”

  Lisa and Colin stopped shouting at each other and turned toward me slowly. Both of them looked confused and stunned.

  “That’s why he was in the alley,” I said, before they could say a word.

  “What are you talking about?” Lisa asked.

  “The stopwatches. The ones we saw in the hospital.”

  “What about them?” Colin prodded.

  Lisa gasped. “There was one with your initials on it, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Colin saw it. Remember?” I looked at Colin, then back to Lisa. “Colin was right.”

  “I was?” Colin looked even more shocked.

  “It was meant for me,” I said. “I was supposed to die that day. He saved me. That’s why he was in the alley.”

  “Those guys were going to kill you?” Colin asked. “For what? Your biology textbook?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe because I was going to get in the way of their robbery. Or maybe I was going to cut through that alley and get hit by a street-sweeper. Who knows? The point is he intervened somehow, and I’m alive.”

  “But how would he know your name?” Lisa asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he asked around. Maybe he followed me. Either way, he did.”

  “Not to be a downer or anything,” Colin said, “but it could also be that the initials on the stopwatch were someone else’s. Or maybe he started out trying to save people, but eventually he really did go nuts. I mean, you heard Dmitri when he said suicide. As in he tried to kill himself.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “It’s possible that he went nuts. I feel like I’m going nuts every time I see one of these stupid vis—” A shiver rolled up my spine and hitched the words in my throat. “But I think there’s something more to this. I really think he saved my life.”

  “So there’s a way,” Lisa said before Colin could get in a word. “If you’re still alive, then Mr. Vidmar saved your life. And if he could save your life, then we can save Becky’s.”

  We turned to leave, heading in the direction of my father’s office, but Colin stopped me by grabbing my arm. He pointed to the corner of the building. “Did you guys see that?”

  “See what?” Lisa asked.

  “That guy.” He took a few cautious steps toward the corner, then peered around the edge. “He’s gone.” He turned back to us. “You didn’t see him?”

  “Colin, what are you talking about?” Lisa asked.

  “There was someone there, watching us, but he took off as soon as I noticed him.”

  “Wait,” I said, remembering the person from the library, “was he wearing a leather jacket?”

  “You did see him!”

  I shook my head. “No. I thought I saw someone at the library, though.”

  “You mean you think someone’s following us?” Lisa asked. “Who?”

  “Oh man,” Colin sa
id, “what if it’s someone from the cult?”

  I considered it for a half a second and then shook my head. “It doesn’t matter right now. My sister’s going to die, and we can’t let that happen. We can worry about who’s following us later. Lisa’s right. If Mr. Vidmar saved my life, we can save Becky’s.”

  ***

  We rushed to my dad’s office and told him we were ready to go.

  “You got the answers you were looking for?” he asked as we walked to the car.

  “Most of them,” Lisa said.

  My dad started the engine and pulled out of his parking spot. “I want you kids to know that you’ve made remarkable strides these past few days.” He glanced at me. “Going to a funeral, coming to the library to better understand what happened. I’m proud of you.” He smiled. “It will get better now, kids. I think after you go to Mr. Utlet’s funeral this Saturday you’ll see how much better you’ll actually feel.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and looked at Lisa and Colin. “Do you kids need a ride tomorrow?”

  “A ride where, Mr. Curse?” Lisa asked.

  “You kids have group therapy tomorrow.”

  I groaned inwardly. I had forgotten about the sessions—and there was no chance my parents would let me skip the next one. But I had to try.

  “Dad, I don’t think—”

  “We had an agreement, son.” My dad’s voice was stern, but he was still smiling. “You’re going.”

  Arguing would have been futile. I considered my options. I couldn’t pretend to be sick. My parents would see right through it. And even if they did let me stay home, they’d insist I stay in bed. I couldn’t help Becky from my bed. I had seen a movie once where a kid put sugar in his parent’s gas tank and it stopped the car from working. I considered stuffing my pockets with the tiny packets my parents used in their coffee and quickly wondered how many packets it would take to do the job.

  “Your session is at ten, right?” my dad said, glancing at the rearview mirror.

  “Er… yes, sir,” Lisa said.

  “Well, if your parents need me to drive you kids, I’m happy to do it.”

  “Thanks, sir,” Colin said. “I’m sure my parents would like that. I’ll double check.”

  “Me too,” Lisa said.

  I shifted in the seat. “How long are the sessions?”

  Lisa groaned. “Two hours.”

  “Unless Eric starts crying again. Last session was almost three hours, thanks to him.”

  “So we’ll be done by noon.” I had to be near Becky at 2:23. As early as possible. “What’s Becky doing tomorrow?”

  My dad cocked an eyebrow. “Becky? She’s probably going to spend the day packing. I’m driving her to camp at four.”

  “So she’ll be home the whole morning?”

  My dad smiled. “I doubt she’ll have plans, son. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to say goodbye to her after your session.”

  A knot twisted in my gut. Any other time I’d be all too happy to see Becky leave for a couple weeks. But the thought of saying goodbye to her now, after the way she looked in my vision, was almost too much.

  “Easy, champ,” my dad said, looking concerned. “She’s only going to be gone for two weeks.”

  “I know that.” A drop of water hit my wrist. I rubbed it with my thumb and then wiped my face. Tears? I was crying? I used my sleeve and wiped my face again. “I’m not crying,” I lied. “I just got some dust in my eye.”

  “There was a lot of dust in the library,” Lisa agreed.

  “I didn’t think so,” Colin said.

  “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you, Colin?” Lisa muttered, though everyone in the car could hear her.

  No way was I getting out of therapy tomorrow. I could take the tires off the car and my dad would strap me to his back and piggyback me to the office. You don’t shed tears for a sister going away to bug camp and not get sent to therapy. I was pretty sure there was a rule written in some how-to-be-a-brother handbook that specifically addressed that issue.

  Chapter 23

  I was relieved to find my sister sitting at the kitchen counter with my mom when we got home.

  “How’d it go?” Mom asked.

  I forced myself to relax. It was surreal to see Becky sitting at the counter. She looked like the picture of health. I shivered. “I think Mr. Vidmar’s brother was glad we came. It seemed like he was,” I lied.

  “I’m sure he was, dear. And how about you? How do you feel?”

  “Fine.”

  My dad leaned over the counter and brought his face to within a few inches of the glass jar in front of Becky. “Another spider? I thought all the bugs had to be different.”

  “This is not just another spider, Dad.” Becky scoffed. “This is a Latrodectus variolus.” She picked up the jar and thrust it toward my dad’s face. “Notice the red hourglass on the belly.”

  “Hourglass? Wait.” Dad backed away noticeably. “You mean that’s a black widow?”

  “It is,” Becky said proudly. “And it’s my fiftieth specimen, so I have a complete display for camp.”

  “Aren’t those dangerous?” my dad asked.

  Becky beamed. “You bet. Its venom is a powerful neurotoxin.” She looked over at me. “One bite might not kill an adult, but it would sure do a number on a kid.” She tapped the glass. “I’m thinking about training it to attack annoying brothers.”

  “Wait, it’s alive?” I said. “I thought all your bugs were dead and pinned to a board.” I narrowed my eyes at the jar and saw the little devil leap onto the side of the glass.

  “Well, I had to act quickly to catch this one, and I didn’t have time to put it right into a kill jar. Obviously, I need to figure out what the best way to move it is.”

  “You’re going to move it?” I looked at my parents and then back to Becky. “While it’s still alive?”

  “Dean,” my dad said, “if there’s anyone who can handle insects, it’s your sister. But Becky, when the time comes to move the little sucker, either Mom or I have to be there.”

  “What!?” I sputtered. This was it. This was how it was going to happen. My sister was going to try to move the spider to her kill jar, and it was going to bite her. That’s how she was going to die.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” Becky said. “But spiders aren’t insects. They’re arachnids.”

  “She’s only eleven years old,” I said.

  “Why do you care anyway?” Becky glared at me from across the counter. “Half of my specimens were poisonous.”

  “I… I don’t care, I just—”

  “Dean, it’s completely normal for you to suddenly feel overprotective of your family right now,” my dad said. “You’ve been exposed to a series of traumatic incidents, and it’s made you hyperaware of threats. This is why it’s a good thing you’re going to therapy tomorrow.”

  “Therapy,” Becky said with a smirk.

  When my dad started talking like a therapist, there was no arguing with him. I pursed my lips and nodded. “You’re right,” I said. “Sorry, Becky. I’m sure you’re going to be careful.” I tugged uncomfortably at my tie. “I’m going to go get changed.”

  I walked up the stairs with one thought. That spider was going to bite Becky. I was sure of it. There was only one solution. It had to die.

  ***

  Killing the spider posed a bigger problem than I expected. Becky didn’t let that stupid jar out of her sight the whole night. She even put it on the table while we ate dinner. I couldn’t take my eyes off the eight-legged beast. All I wanted to do was lunge across the table, snatch up the jar, and smash it with a sledgehammer. But every time I thought of doing something to it, I remembered Mr. Utlet and how he had still died even though we intervened. I needed to be careful. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that the only way to protect Becky was to put the spider in a kill jar for her. I shivered at the thought. Why did I have to have a sister with such a stupid hobby?

  “So what’s in a k
ill jar anyway?” I asked.

  Becky looked up from her plate of fried chicken. “You’re actually interested?”

  “Just curious,” I corrected. My parents looked at me like I was some stranger, so I added, “I’m thinking of making one that’s big enough for an eleven-year-old.”

  “That’s not funny, Dean,” my mom said.

  Becky shoved another chunk of chicken into her mouth. “It’s just nail polish remover.”

  “That’s it? Nail polish remover? That’s how you kill it?”

  “Pretty much. I mean, there’s a bit more to it. It’s the fumes that actually kill it. But that’s mostly it.”

  Simple enough. Throw some nail polish remover in a jar, toss in the spider, and presto. Dead spider.

  “I was going to do it after dinner,” she added. “I guess you can watch if you want.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but my mom cut me off. “Oh no, you’re not, young lady.” She picked up the jar and placed it on the ledge behind the sink. “You’ve killed enough bugs today. The whole place smells like a nail salon. You can do it tomorrow afternoon before we leave—and we’ll do it outside.”

  Becky shrugged. “Okay. It only takes a couple minutes for them to die, and I still need to make the label for it anyway.”

  I smiled. The knot that had been tightening in my stomach ever since the funeral loosened just a smidgen, and I was able to eat a few bites. I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure the black widow would kill Becky, but it made the most sense. And now that Becky would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to kill the spider, it made even more sense. Two twenty-three. I had until then to get rid of that monstrosity. As soon as Becky went to bed, I’d have my chance. Becky would wake up, happy that she didn’t have to do the dirty work, and I would be a bit less anxious about everything. It would all work out.

  That was the plan anyway.

  Chapter 24

  It was after midnight when I finally heard my parents go to bed. But I waited another hour before I crept across my room, grabbed the bottle of nail polish remover that I had taken from my mom’s bathroom earlier, and inched into the corridor. I could hear my dad’s heavy breathing from behind the door at the end of the hall and decided it was safe to proceed. The floor just outside my room groaned under my weight, and I froze, certain someone would wake up and come to investigate. No one did.