Invisibility

by Andrea Cremer

  “He tried to make her promises. He told her she was born to be a cursecaster too. That he would teach her. That she didn’t need college—she had another, greater calling. But she wouldn’t relent. She stopped talking to him. She would still be there, wherever he looked. But she wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t acknowledge him. It drove him crazy. She wouldn’t let go. She played the curse harder. And eventually he broke.”

  My father takes a deep breath. I am still holding mine.

  “I don’t know exactly what happened. I don’t know what led to the fight that ended everything. Your mother never told me; she said it wasn’t important, that it was the accumulation of things that caused the break, not any one in particular. All the anger, all the resentment—it built and built, and your grandfather didn’t have any other way to release it, except as a curse. A cruel, cruel curse.

  “Your mother wanted her freedom. He said fine, she could finally have her freedom. But it came at a price. No longer would she or anyone she loved be able to see him. He would be invisible to her for as long as he lived. There would be no going back. And just as he would be invisible to her, so too would her children be invisible—not just to her, but to everyone. The old curse was over. This was the new one.”

  “Why didn’t he just make her invisible?” Laurie asks.

  “First, I’m not sure cursecasting works that way,” my father replies. “But second—and more important—he knew what he was doing. He knew that it would be much harder to watch her own child suffer for her actions than it would be if she suffered herself. And so it was.”

  It hits me. I’ve been listening to this. It’s been a story. I’ve been an observer—observing my father’s pain as he tells me, observing Laurie’s curiosity, Elizabeth’s quiet. But now I feel as if my whole life has been rewritten, and it’s the same pain as if all my bones have been rearranged.

  I am not thinking about me.

  I am thinking about my mother.

  My father can’t stop now. “She escaped. She left the room and never saw her father again. She could feel his presence—she knew he meant his curse—but she didn’t want to stay any longer. What mattered the most was to get out of there. And to keep going. She was only sure it was over when her body let her leave. She kept going and going. She tried to erase her trail as best she could, because she didn’t want him to change his mind and follow. He’d want her back. She knew it. As soon as he was truly alone, he’d want her back. But she’d be long gone.

  “I think he genuinely believed that his disappearance from her life would be a punishment, that she would regret her departure. But of course she didn’t. She went to college and got enough loans and scholarship money to make it through. She said her parents were dead, and nobody questioned it. She had her mother’s death certificate, and said her father had never been in her life. She put the past behind her. After college, she and I met at a party. We were happy. She didn’t tell me any of this—I got to know her without knowing her past. It was only after we were married, when we started talking about having children—that’s when she told me.

  “I didn’t believe her. How could I? I was sure, from the way she talked, that something had been horribly wrong with her father. But curses? Invisibility? How could I believe that? She stopped talking about it. She decided, for a time, to love me anyway. She decided to risk it, to have a child. She got pregnant. Without telling me, she found a midwife who believed her. It was a home birth. God—I just can’t go back to that night. I had doubted it, and then there you were. Only you weren’t. And I discovered that your mother hadn’t been lying after all.”

  He walks over to the couch. He can tell by the position of Elizabeth’s hand where I am.

  “Stephen,” he says. “Look at me.”

  I do. I look him right in the eye.

  “Your mother loved you. From before you were born, no matter what, your mother loved you. She felt she had brought this on you, but she never loved you any less. If anything, she loved you more for having to bear the weight of her curse. I tried to tell her—really, I did—that just because you were innocent, it didn’t make her guilty. Some days she believed me. Some days she didn’t. But she always loved you.”

  “I know that,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  But maybe he does. Maybe I feel more awful now than I ever have before. Maybe they were right not to tell me. Maybe this only makes things worse.

  I am thinking, of all things, about the silent treatment. The same silent treatment that my mother apparently used on her father, I would sometimes use on her. Not often. But there were times when I was really young, when I was really angry, that I would just stop talking to her. She couldn’t see me, and then she couldn’t hear me either. It always upset her, and now that upset takes on another dimension. Five years later, ten years later, I feel so profoundly sorry. I understand that there was no way I could’ve known, and that she knew that I didn’t know. But still. The hurt I gave her. Not just in my very existence, but all the times I got it wrong.

  I know she loved me. But I also know that her love took work. Lots and lots of work.

  She’d told me all of my grandparents were dead. Instead of inventing new grandparents for me, she simply avoided talking about it.

  “Are you okay?”

  It’s Elizabeth, not my father, who asks me this. But everyone hangs on my answer.

  “I don’t know what I am,” I tell her. “I have no idea.”

  Dad paces away. Turns back to me. Wants to finish his story.

  “We tried to find him,” he says. “After you were born. She went back to where she’d left him, but he was long gone. He didn’t leave a trail either. We hired detectives. They said it was like he’d never existed. Then she tried to track down other cursecasters, to see if there was any kind of antidote, any way of ending it. But we never found another cursecaster. Only internet crackpots, including one or two who were willing to string us along for months, even years. Nothing worked. Your grandfather was the key, and we had lost him.”

  “So you think that’s it?” I ask. “That’s what it takes to break the curse?”

  “Yes,” my father says. “To break the curse, you must find a man who isn’t there.”

  Chapter 12

  WHEN I WAS TWELVE and my family hadn’t yet disintegrated, we made our annual pilgrimage to the Minnesota State Fair. Laurie bet me that I could stomach three back-to-back trips on the Tilt-A-Whirl. While my mother tried to convince me that there was no honor in regurgitated cheese curds, I couldn’t bear to ignore the gauntlet my little brother had thrown at my feet.

  I did it. I didn’t throw up, but the world felt like it was spinning for another hour at least.

  I feel that way now, off-kilter and unable to stop the ground from shifting beneath my feet.

  No one is speaking. Stephen’s father clears his throat, gets up, and leaves. None of us try to stop him.

  “Wow,” Laurie says, no longer able to bear the weight of silence. “Okay . . . wow.”

  Stephen drops his head into his hands and I let out a shuddering sigh. Laurie’s eyes meet mine and I realize he can see what’s happening to Stephen, that wrenching grief, because it’s written on my face too.

  “Don’t,” Laurie says. “Don’t freak out.”

  Stephen still hasn’t spoken. I put my arms around him, resting my chin on his shoulder.

  Laurie gets up, pacing in front of the sofa. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Stephen looks up, his hands balled into fists. “How? What is there to figure out? I’m invisible because my grandfather was evil. That’s it. I am the spawn of evil.”

  “You’re not the spawn of evil,” I say, though my stomach is curling into a knot.

  “A cursecaster?” Stephen says. “Placing wicked, cruel spells on people is my legacy, and you’re trying to say that’s not evil. That I’m not somehow inherently evil.”

  He’s shaking and his face has taken on a gray pallor that makes
me shiver.

  “But you aren’t evil,” I say. “And neither was your mother. She rejected that legacy.”

  “And look where it got her.” Stephen pulls away from me. He gets up and walks to the window, staring into the distance. “This is who I am. I am invisible.”

  “No, no, no,” Laurie says. He walks to the window, and I’m glad he doesn’t bump into Stephen. I’m also touched that he wants to try to be close to someone he can’t see. He’s trying so hard.

  Laurie waves his hands as if trying to clear a foul odor. “We’re not doing that. No pity parties, no drowning in despair. Who’s for karma?”

  “Karma?” I ask.

  “I know they say ‘no good deed goes unpunished,’ but that’s crap. Stephen’s mother did something amazing. And I think that means something.”

  “It means she died still being punished for her father being an evil bastard,” Stephen says.

  “And that sucks, no argument,” Laurie tells him. “But that’s not the end of the story. It’s the beginning . . . maybe the middle.”

  Laurie reaches out tentatively and I hold my breath. The movement catches Stephen’s eye and I watch him tense up. But Laurie manages to lightly touch Stephen’s arm. When he feels the muscles flexed under his fingers, he moves his hand up to squeeze Stephen’s shoulder.

  “You’re the story now,” Laurie says. “You decide how it’s going to end.”

  I stand up and go to the window. Stephen watches as I take his hand and then take Laurie’s hand. We’re standing in a circle, facing each other.

  Laurie grins. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it—”

  Stephen finally cracks a smile. “Nice. Finding an invisible man is as close to impossible as it can get.”

  “But I found you,” I say. Stephen squeezes my fingers.

  “And I have an idea,” Laurie says. “Be right back.”

  Laurie winks at me and darts into the hallway, closing the apartment door firmly behind him.

  “Why does that make me nervous?” Stephen asks.

  “Because while Laurie’s enthusiasm can be infectious, infectious things can be very nasty.”

  Stephen pulls me into his arms. We stand there without speaking. I can see him. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest. Outrage and grief are sloshing around in my gut, hot and volatile as a bubbling cauldron. How could anyone lay a curse on their own child? Or on a baby? Stephen was stolen from this world before he took his first breath. It was a miracle he survived at all. Maybe Laurie had hit on the single truth that we could cling to like a life raft: the story wasn’t over. Against all odds, Stephen had made his way in a world that didn’t know he existed. Against all odds, I’d moved into a building far away from the home I’d known, the only girl who could see her invisible neighbor.

  I want to be in control of my own life. But I can’t deny the improbable circumstances that have brought Stephen and me together. And now that I’m here, that I have him, I want to believe impossible things are possible. I’m ready for miracles.

  “What are you thinking about?” Stephen asks.

  “Saving you,” I say. He leans down and presses his face into my neck. I realize he’s whispering something. I listen harder.

  “I love you,” he says again.

  My fingers dig into his shoulders.

  “I’m back!” Laurie slams the door shut.

  It must look so strange: me standing there, clinging to an invisible boy who I love but am terrified for and at times am terrified of.

  We let each other go but stay close so our bodies are touching as we turn to face Laurie.

  “Don’t be mad,” Laurie says.

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “I had to make a phone call,” Laurie says. “We needed a little more help.”

  “Who did you call?” Stephen takes a step forward, eyes narrowing.

  Laurie’s cheeks go pink. “Sean.”

  “What?” Stephen goes rigid, frozen in place as he stares at Laurie.

  “Laurie!” I stomp across the room. “You do not use crises to impress your crush. What the hell?!”

  Laurie rolls his eyes. “Cut the tantrum, Josie. You splotch when you’re angry. It’s not attractive.”

  Stephen’s voice is quiet and dangerous. “What did you call Sean for, Laurie?”

  “Don’t be mad,” Laurie says. “I didn’t tell him anything. I swear. I just needed to ask him something.”

  “What?” Stephen walks towards us.

  “I remembered something he said when we first met.” Laurie’s flushed cheeks match the sparkle in his eyes. Whatever it is, he’s really excited about it. “I was trying to get to know him and I only knew he loved comics, so I asked him all sorts of questions about them.”

  “Comics are the cure?” My arms are folded across my chest. I’m about to lose my temper again, splotching or not.

  “Not comics, exactly,” Laurie says. “When I asked Sean where he usually got his comics, he told me a few places, but there was one he got weird about.”

  “A weird comic shop?” I ask.

  Laurie nods. “He said it’s his favorite, but he’s kind of afraid to go there.”

  “Why?” Stephen asks.

  “I think he used the expression ‘creep show,’” Laurie says. “Going into the shop is like visiting a haunted house or a mad scientist’s lair. Sean said kids hang out on the stoop daring each other to stay inside for more than five minutes. He claims none of them can do it.”

  “Really?” Stephen’s expression has grown curious, but his eyes are wary.

  “Yep,” Laurie says. “Sean said he’s never been able to stay longer than fifteen minutes.”

  “So why does he even go there?” I ask.

  “I guess they have a better collection of rare and special edition books than anyone else in the city,” Laurie says.

  Now I’m curious. “But what does this have to do with our problem?” I ask.

  “Not our problem,” Laurie says. “Our mission. Let’s call it a mission. Or a quest.”

  “Why does it matter what we call it?” Stephen asks.

  “Power of positive thinking. Karma,” Laurie says. “Stephen is not a problem. He is a person. Invisibility is not a problem, it is a curse. Our mission is to help Stephen the person. Our quest is to find a way to break the curse.”

  I love my brother so much I think my heart will burst.

  Stephen smiles. “But the shop?”

  “Sean says it’s not the comics part that gives the place its evil aura,” Laurie says. “It’s the back room.”

  I have visions of mafia or drug kingpins. “Illegal stuff?”

  “I don’t think so,” Laurie says. “More like occult stuff. Sean says they have a witch on staff.”

  “Witches?” I say, frustration building again. “Give me a break.”

  “Just hear me out.” Laurie gives me a hard stare. “Apparently this lady reads fortunes and the usual psychic stuff, but Sean mentioned something about hex breaking.”

  “Hex breaking?” Stephen’s breath catches.

  “Yeah,” Laurie says. “I think we should check it out.”

  I balk, worried about wild-goose chases. “But Stephen’s dad said we can only break the curse by finding his grandfather.”

  “That’s true,” Stephen says.

  “And witches, Laurie?” I say, twisting my hands in the hair at my temples, sort of wanting to yank it out. “I mean, witches?”

  “Because witches are so much more unbelievable than cursecasters.” Laurie glares at me.

  “Touché,” Stephen murmurs.

  “My point is we don’t know where to start,” Laurie says. “I’m not saying this is the end of our quest. But we need a guide, or a map, or something. We don’t know where to start. Maybe we’ll get some ideas from this place.”

  “Can we go with mission instead of quest?” I say. “I feel like you’re trying to be our Dungeon Master or something.”

 
; “I’m trying to elevate our experience,” Laurie says.

  Stephen looks at me and shrugs. “At least we’ll get out of the house. I’m feeling trapped in here like I never have before.”

  I get that. In some ways Stephen’s world got a lot smaller, his life limited, by his father’s confession.

  “All right,” I say. “I’m in.”

  “Where is it?” Stephen asks.

  “In the garden level of a brownstone on Eighty-Fourth,” Laurie says.

  “That’s an easy walk,” I say, partly wishing it was a bit farther away. I want to drink in fresh air, clear my head. Today is the first sunny day in weeks. I’m hoping there might even be a breeze.

  “Yes, it is,” Stephen says. He’s already heading for the door.

  * * *

  I’ve done this before, walked the streets with Stephen. I can only think of it now in terms of before and after. The walk was like this before I knew. Now the walk is like that. It’s after. After I can see the deft way Stephen weaves through the world. The way he steers clear of the visible ones who would step on his toes, jostle him, or slam right into him. He is forced to constantly adjust, to always move aside. As we pass through the crowds of oblivious pedestrians, I want to yell. Perhaps if I shouted long enough, demanding the attention of enough eyes, forcing them onto Stephen, the sheer force of their stares would break the curse. It’s foolish and I know it, but my frustration makes me desperate. I want to solve this problem now. I’m afraid of Laurie’s quest. Quests are epic. Quests take forever. We don’t have forever. I don’t know that we have much time at all. A part of me knows that hearing the truth from his father has broken Stephen. I worry he’s in danger of fading away completely, of wishing himself right out of this world. I can’t let that happen.