Manifest

by Artist Arthur

  I’m at the school, that much I know. There are no lights on so I’m kind of stumbling through the halls. Then I hear the crying and walk faster, trying to get to the girl I know is sitting on the floor in the equipment room.

  Only this time when I get there she’s not there. For a minute I just stare at the spot where I saw her last. It’s empty yet I still hear the crying.

  “Shut up!”

  I hear the man’s voice and I turn toward it. His back is facing me, his dark clothes giving him the appearance of a big lump of black.

  Her crying gets louder and I take a step in their direction. “Stop it! Stop it! Why are you doing this to me?” She’s sobbing louder and her voice sounds familiar.

  He pulls back an arm and punches her. The sound is sickening and I gasp.

  “I told you to keep your mouth shut! Never, never tell anyone what we do together. I told you!”

  “But I didn’t tell. I didn’t, I swear!”

  “Yes, you did, because you’re just like her. Just like that other tramp! Can’t keep your trap shut long enough for me to make my money! Well, now you’re gonna wish you had.”

  He hits her again and I run to them to stop this madness. He drops her to the floor and I see her face. I cover my mouth to hold in the scream. The moment he turns to me, my sight is filled with black smoke, choking me until I roll over coughing.

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  The flash from the camera is blinding me. Why isn’t he using a digital instead of this ancient 35mm? That’s my first question.

  Then I look to the bed to see what he’s taking pictures of. It’s a girl, her teenage body naked but for a feathery wrap.

  “Take it off,” he orders gruffly.

  Her arms move slowly, clumsily.

  “Hurry up, I don’t have all night.”

  She’s trying but she can’t seem to get her movements together. Then she finally gets the wrap off and falls back on the bed. I don’t look at her body but at her face and feel a tightness in my chest.

  Camy.

  I spin around, trying to figure out where I am but all I see are photos—on the wall, on the floor, on the tables. Pictures and pictures of girls, young girls, naked girls. I feel sick but that doesn’t stop me from bending down and picking up a couple of the pictures.

  One is of Trina.

  One is of Camy.

  And the other…is of crying girl from school. But her face isn’t pale or bloody. It’s pretty, her red hair like flames. She’s not crying this time but she’s not smiling either. She’s just lying there while a man touches her.

  Then I know I’m going to vomit. I roll over, off the side of the bed and let the wretched images in my mind go.

  twenty-five

  Driving home the next day my mother is still quiet. I think she’ll say something to me, ask me if my father had told me about his plans. But she doesn’t. I wonder why she just didn’t tell me about Amanda and the baby in the first place because now I realize that she knew all along. So even though I feel stupid for blaming her all this time, I’m still angry with her for keeping the truth from me.

  I’m so confused now as I fall tiredly into my bed. I don’t know who to trust or who to believe. Adults just do what they want, say what they feel is necessary and forget about you the rest of the time.

  Everything is not always what it seems.

  I hear the voice and truly am too tired to even lift my head to see him. He’s been gone for the couple of days I was in the hospital. He hadn’t once tried to contact me. That fact alone hurt my feelings but I guess I should get used to it. Ricky’s dead; he can’t be with me forever.

  At least Sasha and Jake had called my cell phone, sent me text messages to make sure I was okay. And Franklin, I’d received texts and voice messages from him several times a day. Now, him, I could be with.

  I’d told Sasha and Jake about the spirits trying to kidnap me because I knew they’d understand. Sasha seemed really freaked out. Jake said he’d do some research because there had to be a way I could control their comings and goings. Franklin just thought I had the flu. That was for the best. I just appreciated the fact that now I had friends.

  I didn’t grow up with either one of my parents.

  He keeps talking and I keep crying, the tears now a mixture of how I feel about my parents and how I thought I felt about Ricky.

  My parents left me and Twan. I was seven and he was six. They just said they decided they didn’t want kids and gave us to my aunt Pearl. She tried to give us everything they didn’t. But me and Twan, we kinda figured we could raise ourselves after a while. Did some things we probably shouldn’t have. But by the time I thought about that it was too late.

  I sniffle and try to covertly use the pillowcase to wipe my nose before turning to face him. Mentally I remind myself to take that gross pillowcase off before I go to sleep tonight.

  “I don’t mean any harm, Ricky,” I say, shifting in the bed so that my back is now to the wall and I’m sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress. “But I’m really not in the mood right now. I’ve got so much other stuff going on in my head, I just can’t focus on you and your problems.” And being this close to him is confusing me.

  He shrugs his shoulders. We’re not that different, you know. Most kids have the same problems, just different circumstances.

  “Oh, did your father sleep with your babysitter, too?” I try for flippant but it comes out as a whine.

  I don’t know. He wasn’t there, remember?

  Right, he did say that. “So, I don’t understand.”

  Like I said, different circumstances. You wanted your parents to be together, to be a happy family like the Cosbys. Me and Twan, we wanted the same thing. Your dad slept with another chick, your mom got pissed and rolled out, taking you with her. Both our parents just split, no explanation, no looking back. Same problems, different circumstances.

  He’s absolutely right. I can admit that now without resenting him for it. “I see what you’re saying.”

  But you’ve got to move on, Krystal. You ain’t never goin’ be able to make your parents, or any adults for that matter, do what you want them to do or what you think they should do. You gotta learn to roll with the punches.

  I had actually sort of come to that conclusion myself. “It just feels like I’ve been sucker punched in the gut.”

  He smiles this time and lifts his leg up, resting his arm over his knee. He’s in his favorite spot—the window seat—sitting there like it was built just for him. I don’t know why but I like seeing him there.

  Yeah, that’s how disappointment feels. Been there, done that.

  “I get the feeling you’ve been a lot of places and done a lot of things.”

  Oh, yeah. He nods. And not all of them have been good.

  “Tell me what happened the night you were shot,” I say, surprising both him and myself. I’d never asked him that before and the fact that I’m doing it now, when my own life is in shambles, is strange. Still, I want to know. I feel like I need to know to make that final connection.

  The crew was meeting in that old warehouse by the school. I hadn’t been around much because me and Trina were going through some things. We’d been beefing a lot in the weeks just before that. And then she was just gone. I was trippin’ ’cause I didn’t know where she was but I thought she might be in trouble.

  “What kind of trouble?” I ask, wondering if he knew who had been taking those pictures of her. I know I’d asked him before and he said he didn’t but now it sort of sounded like he knew something.

  He looks at me, shakes his head then looks away. She was taking those pictures. The one you got on your phone.

  I can’t help it, I’m curious. “And you wanted her to stop?”

  Hell, yeah, I wanted her to stop! I told her she was better than that, better than some porn star wannabe making money for people she didn’t even know.

  “And she didn’t listen?”<
br />
  Nah. Said she had a good thing going and that if I wasn’t with her I was against her. He chuckles. I don’t know where she got that crap from. I just wanted her to be safe.

  “And you didn’t think this was safe?”

  No. Letting some perv take naked photos of you is not smart and eventually it wouldn’t be safe.

  “Some other girls around town filed complaints about some guy sending them IMs and text messages about sex. I read in the paper the other day that they also found photos in the girls’ rooms. Photos that someone had taken of them.”

  Yeah? Nasty. What kind of man takes pictures of young girls?

  I shrug. “The girls say they can’t remember what the guy looked like. Said he might have given them some kind of date rape drug or something.”

  See, that’s exactly what I think happened to Trina.

  And he was trying to stop her, to protect her. I could see Ricky doing that. He has that protective nature about him, that’s why he hung with the crew and looked out for his brother.

  “So after you didn’t see Trina anymore you just went back to hanging with your crew?”

  Ricky sighed. Yeah, I was headed to the spot when I heard something behind me, sounded like keys dropping on the ground, so I didn’t think anything of it. A few minutes later something hit me in my chest and stung like hell. I stumbled a bit then looked down and saw the blood on my shirt. I touched it to make sure it was real and that’s when I was shot again and again. Last thing I remember was hittin’ the ground.

  “And you didn’t see who it was that shot you?”

  Nah.

  “But you’re sure it wasn’t one of your crew?” The more I think about it, I am sure it wasn’t either.

  I’m positive. Why would they shoot me? I was one of them. Plus those guys aren’t as bad as they’d like people to think. None of them have a gun or probably the guts to use one.

  I smile at that, remembering that Sasha had said their big meeting was about what they were wearing to the spring dance. That didn’t sound too big and bad to me.

  “Do you think Trina knows how she died?”

  Yeah, she knows.

  “And she won’t tell you?”

  Why should she? There’s nothing I can do about it.

  “What do you think I can do about the person who killed you?”

  You can expose whoever it is as a murderer and clear Twan and the crew’s name. I don’t want people to keep giving them a bad rep for something they didn’t and could never do.

  For the first time since I’d met him I really get what he is saying, what he is trying to do. This is so not about him, or simply his crossing over. Ricky has unfinished business, he has to clear the hip-hoppers’ name and he won’t move forward until he does that.

  As for me, I’m not going to move on until I find out who did this to him and who that man is in my vision, the one who is planning to hurt another girl in Lincoln.

  twenty-six

  Being a teenager should not be this emotional.

  This should be the easiest, most enjoyable time in my life. Instead it’s the most confusing, most unrewarding. Stepping out of the shower, I’m blasted with cold air. Shivering is a given as I try to dry off in record time. Slipping on my robe, I stand in front of the mirror while tying the belt around my waist.

  I look old. Older than my fifteen years. And I feel about fifty.

  My comb and brush are right where they normally are, which means that not only did my mother pack my bag to go to the hospital, but she unpacked it when I returned earlier today. I don’t know how I feel about that just yet. So I try to focus on the pressing matter of my tangled flyaway hair that makes me look more like a wild jungle woman than a young girl. I probably should have washed it but I really didn’t feel up to the full magnitude of that task. Wash, condition, blow-dry, style. My stomach’s growling and I’m really tired so my plan is to finish in the bathroom, make a quick run to the kitchen then back upstairs in my room. I do not want to see or talk to anybody else until tomorrow. Today has just been too damn stressful. (Yeah, it is definitely worth the profanity—no matter how old I really am.)

  By the time I’m finished in the bathroom my head is hurting—I probably should have sucked it up and did the whole wash-and-style thing. Instead I manage to untangle and probably pull out a good portion of my hair and pull it back into a semineat ponytail. My face still looks a little drained but it doesn’t matter, I’m not going anywhere.

  Back in my room I slip on some pajamas (the full set, long pants and T-shirt). I’m still a little chilly although I think it’s pretty warm outside. Maybe Gerald had my mother turn up the air-conditioning. I see the window I’d broken has already been fixed and the room that was a mess when I left is cleaned. I didn’t notice that while Ricky was here.

  I’m wondering if I should log on to ChicTeen and IM Sasha and Jake with the new developments or if calling them would make more sense. My train of thought must have been translated to my only two friends in the world because there is a soft knock at the door followed by my mother’s voice saying, “Krystal, honey, you’ve got company.”

  Luckily I am dressed and as decent as could be considering I’m in my bedroom and it’s, like, after seven at night. My feet are bare as I walk across the floor just as she’s opening the door and entering my room with Jake and Sasha right behind her.

  I’m happy to see them since I have a lot to tell them, starting with the new info I got from Ricky and ending with the scary visions I am now having.

  I look at my mother, who looks almost as bad as I do, and I don’t really know how I feel about seeing her. Except that she’s carrying a pizza box. My stomach growls and I know that I am, for once, grateful for her always trying to get me to eat.

  “Hi, Krystal,” Sasha says first, coming from around my mother to grab me into a hug.

  It’s weird, this relationship between me and Sasha. One minute we’re snapping at each other and the next, well, she’s hugging me.

  “We were worried about you,” she says as she’s pulling back.

  “I’m okay,” I finally manage to say and smile because she’s smiling at me.

  “Girl, your hair is a mess and we’ve got to do something about that scar.”

  She pokes at my cheek and my hand absently goes there to trace the bumpy reminder of another one of my spiritual visitors, the one I think was trying to tell me who she really was. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “I’d already ordered you a pizza,” my mother says, holding up the box. “It’s your favorite, extra cheese and pepperoni.”

  And then I do something that I know she’s not expecting—sort of like Sasha just did with me. I smile at her and say, “Thanks. I was getting hungry.”

  And my mother smiles back, a real smile, one that makes her eyes sort of light up and makes me feel really happy.

  “Well, I’ll just leave this here. I brought up some plates, too, and Jake was kind enough to grab the soda and cups.”

  As she speaks Jake holds up the soda and cups, giving me a wry smile as he does.

  I chuckle and shake my head.

  “So I’ll leave you guys alone for a while,” she says, then makes her way over to me. “But I don’t want you up too late. You need to get some rest.”

  I nod my head as she’s talking. She’s reaching out a hand and I know that means she’s going to touch me. She hasn’t done that in a long time. Her fingers graze my cheek, the scarred one, and her forehead wrinkles a bit. “I’ve got something for that. We’ll put it on before you go to bed. Is that okay?”

  She’s the mother, why’s she asking me? I don’t know the answer but I decide to take Dr. Whack Quack’s advice and answer her questions. Hopefully if I do that, she’ll answer some of mine when I decide to ask them again. “Sure.”

  She’s smiling again as she moves closer and drops a kiss on my forehead. She smells really sweet, like cookies and flowers. I’ve missed that smell.

  The min
ute it’s just us in the room Sasha opens the box of pizza that my mother left on my desk. She picks up a slice and drops it on a plate then plops down—that’s right, you guessed it—on my bed like it’s hers.

  “So what happened? I mean with the ghosts and all. Your messages didn’t really say.”

  The sound of Jake releasing the top from the two-liter soda echoes in the room. “Please answer her,” he says with his back turned to us as he starts pouring the soda into the cups. “She’s been rambling about this for the past two days. We even tried to get into the hospital to see you but they wouldn’t let us.”

  Hmm, they’d come to the hospital…to see me?

  I move to the table and pick up two slices of pizza and a cup of soda. Then I make my way to the bed to sit on the opposite side from Sasha. I pick the pizza up and take a bite, not thinking of it coming back up or getting stuck in my throat. This time I focus on the taste, the tangy sauce, the smooth kind of bitter cheese, the spicy pepperoni. I feel my stomach churning in hunger and know that I’m going to clear this plate to make it stop.

  “At first I thought I raised the dead,” I say between bites two and three.

  “Wow!” Jake pauses, his pizza just inches away from his mouth. “You did? How?”

  “I didn’t really know since I was asleep. I was sleeping and then I woke up and they were here, a bunch of them right in my room. They were asking me to help them and when I said no, one of them got angry and threatened to take me with them. That’s when I freaked and started throwing stuff at them, telling them to leave me alone.”

  “And that’s how you broke the window?” Jake asks.

  “How’d you know I broke the window?”

  “I came by your house that morning. Pop Pop had gotten up at breakfast rambling on and on about the Power and a storm coming. So when neither of you answered your phones I decided to come by. But when I got here nobody was home. I saw the plastic over the window.”