“I thought you did, but someone’s been in here.”
“Wasn’t me,” he says.
Jared can’t lie to me. He’s tried in the past, but it’s totally pointless. Now that I see energy fields around people it’s even easier for me to tell if they are being deceitful. Then again, he is my brother, and he has a way of distracting me which sometimes throws a curve ball around my new “intuitive abilities”.
“What’s missing?” he asks.
Possibly it’s the look on my face or the hint of guilt at hiding something, but one of Jared’s eyebrows rises along with the corresponding side of his wide mouth as if he’s caught me doing something I shouldn’t be.
Swiveling around and away from his knowing brown eyes, I bend down and turn the key in the brass lock and pocket the key, saying, “Nothing. I just thought…it’s nothing.”
“Getting a wee bit addle-brained in your old age?”
“Yeah, at the ripe old age of nineteen, I think dementia is setting in early.”
“So what did you lose? Maybe I’ve seen it,” he says.
I replace my stereo, CD’s, and candles on the top of the trunk, making a mental map of the alignment of the corner of my stereo with the back corner of the trim so I know if anyone moves my stuff. “I didn’t lose anything. I thought I left something in my dresser, but when I opened my trunk it was in here. I swear I didn’t put it there.”
A half hour earlier, I stepped out of my room to shower and get ready for my date with Nathaniel. When I was done and walked back across the hall, I noticed my room felt peculiar. Putting my finger on what’s different eludes me. A feel to the air? A shift in an electrical current? I don’t understand it, but I can feel it, and I don’t like it.
“Apparently, I’m losing my life and you’re losing your mind.”
I hear the smirk in his voice like this is some hilarious joke. I roll my eyes, but can’t stop the smile playing around my mouth. He doesn’t look as stoned as he did a couple hours ago. In fact, he looks pretty sober. He’s also talking to me, so he must have gotten over our spat in the backyard.
As if we just shared brainwaves, he says, “Hey, about earlier. You’re totally right about the pot. I need to cool it for a while.”
Surprised by this announcement, I’m rendered temporarily speechless.
“Jules?”
He sounds clear-headed as he says my name. Jared looks over into the hallway as if he’d rather be somewhere else, but he stays put and continues.
“I’m not sure if I can stop. I’m gonna give my stash away so it won’t be in the house.”
I keep my mouth shut so my jaw doesn’t hit the floor. Jared’s declaration is awkward for us both. When he died from the overdose, he left his body and there was a moment when he looked so sorry and miserable for the mistake he made. I talked to his spirit. I’m sure this sudden silence hanging in the room between us is filled with that memory. I stare at my trunk and fidget slightly, not sure how to respond to his acknowledgment of a drug problem.
He speaks first. “Whoa. That was real,” he says, acknowledging the hard truth. He walks farther into my room, looking a little uncomfortable, but keeps talking. “You need to know first. I made a promise to be a better brother and this is a real attempt at honesty with you and myself.”
“Umm…” I bite my lower lip.
“You don’t have to say anything right now. In fact, forget it.”
“No. I’m…” I’m sort of stunned is all, but I don’t want to admit it to him. “I just want to help my favorite brother.”
“I’m your only brother,” he says, stating the obvious.
“Yep, and I’m sorry I was such a rag outside. I was upset you were smoking.”
“I know you’re looking out for me. And you’re helping me see I have a problem.”
“Thanks, J,” I say, and try to lighten the mood by adding, “Now admit you’ve been snooping around my room so I can stop obsessing about who was inside my trunk.”
“When I was ten, you slammed the lid to Pandora’s Box on my hand. I haven’t touched it since,” he says and cradles the fingers of his right hand.
Pleasure almost equals the guilt at the memories of torturing my baby brother when we were little. I recall how many times he justly earned every scratch, pinch, or kick in the shins, and I smile knowingly at him.
“You don’t have to look so proud of yourself,” he says.
“I’m sure you deserved it.”
“So, what did you put inside Pandora’s Box today?” Jared teases.
“It’s not important,” I say trying to discourage his questioning. It was the piece of paper with my notes and the book I brought home from the metaphysical shop.
What’s bothering me is the charm I want to wear tonight — the one Nathaniel gave me — was inside the trunk. It wasn’t just lying randomly inside. It was tucked into the very same binder I put my notes in. If I had accidentally dropped the charm in the trunk it would not have been tucked between the pages of a closed binder. How had it gotten there? I glance over at the window, instantly paranoid that someone’s watching me. I know it’s ridiculous because my window is upstairs and no neighbor’s windows are in direct line of sight to my room. There’s only forest behind our house. I shake off the creepy feeling.
“Are you writing again?” Jared asks.
“Not really. Just studying a little. What were you doing inside the shed?”
“I got bored and wanted to see if I could find some of our old stuff from when we were kids.”
“Feeling nostalgic?”
Jared shrugs.
I think I know exactly what he was doing. Since I found out he is on his way to the afterlife, I’ve replayed every fun, exciting, or special memory we’ve had together.
“All I found was the clock. I think it was Dad’s. Maybe Grandpa’s. It looks old.”
“I’m such a jerk,” I say thinking about the way I acted when Jared was being thoughtful.
“Pretty much,” he agrees. “Don’t worry. I’ll still keep you. I got grossed out by the mouse crap and stopped looking. So, where are you off to?” he asks his original question.
“I didn’t say I was going anywhere.”
“Come on, Jules. You never spend more than five minutes in the bathroom getting ready. And what’s this…?”
He leans away from the wall where he’d been standing and moves closer to me. His long narrow nose is aimed at me and working furiously. He reminds me of our childhood pet, Trix, an overweight flopped-eared rabbit, whose nose became a twitching machine if you were anywhere near her hutch with a banana or box of raisins. Jared’s also wearing his hair loose — something rarely seen by anyone — which enhances the impression of long black ears, just like Trix’s. He looks so much like her that bubbles of laughter rise into my throat. I swallow hard and push him away.
“You smell fruity,” he accuses.
Turning aside so he won’t see the heat creeping over my face I sit down on my bed. I’m busted. And he’s right. I used pink grapefruit lotion after taking a shower. Fake chemical scents don’t appeal to me. No, let me rephrase that. Artificial smells, like perfume, make my head pound and my stomach turn loop-de-loops. I don’t know why. Sometimes I wish I could be like everyone else and not worry about how my shampoo or laundry soap smells or have to worry about running into dead people who want to ask favors of me. After wishing such a thing, I realize normalcy isn’t my path and just buy the soap or lotion or deodorant that doesn’t make the back of my eyeballs throb. As for the dead people, I try to pretend I don’t see them and they usually don’t catch on. Angels and other celestial beings, well, that’s entirely different. By the way, my grapefruit lotion is one-hundred percent naturally scented and so far, no hammers inside my head.
“Did you drink your tea today?” I ask, making a lame attempt at switching subjects.
“You’re not getting off that easy,” he says as he sidles over to my green velvet chair and takes up resid
ence. “And a new necklace? It looks good.”
Jared making himself comfortable means I have two choices. Leave my room, or camp out on my bed and spill my guts. I put my hand on the four-leaf clover charm Nathaniel gave me. I strung it on a black cord with a couple of silver beads and made it into the necklace hanging around my neck.
I edge toward the door. “I need to…” I start to make up something mundane about laundry or dishes or burying my head in the sand, but Jared interrupts.
“You look great. Just tell me before I kick the bucket already.”
I chew the edge of my fingernail and contemplate why he wants to talk. Curiosity makes me stay. With the pillows stuffed behind my back I ask, “How are you feeling today?”
Jared shakes his head like a dog, making his shoulder-length hair go shaggy around his face. He stares at me for a long penetrating moment. Then, as if he’s changed his mind about the arrangement of said hair, he brushes his hand over his head pushing it all back.
A few days ago Jared overdosed on a mix of OxyContin and other pharmaceuticals concocted by a warlock/ex-pharmacist named Travis Dawson. He swallowed the pills after staying up all night on some hallucinogen. The drugs caused his death, and he died right in front of me. Marcus was waiting for him. Did I already mention that normal, boring, everyday hum-drum isn’t in the plan for my life? Miraculously, with Nathaniel’s help and two very capable EMT’s, he was revived. Jared seems to have recovered, but I ask him every few hours how he’s doing. Nathaniel told me there’s no changing the course of one’s death so as each second passes I have to wonder how many more days, hours, minutes Jared has left.
“I already had two cups of your vile tea today and I don’t have another dose until later tonight,” he says pointedly because he knows I already know this. He tips his head back against the chair staring up at my popcorn-textured ceiling. “And I’m great, better than great. Now you get to tell me what you’re up to.”
“Err, it’s…”
“It’s gotta be big and embarrassing, or I’d already know.”
I keep stalling. How do I tell him that the same Angel of Death who brought him back to life is taking me on a date? Nathaniel is an amazing guy. Okay, he’s an angel and I’m, well, not. Our situation is unusual. Well, let me come clean and say it. Even I think it’s too weird to admit aloud. “I’m going out. With a guy,” I blurt, and add a little too hastily, “It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re so obvious. I hope this guy likes that.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say, and wing a bed pillow at his face. He catches it without even looking away from the ceiling.
“Do I know him?”
“Sort of.”
“Hmm,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. “I guess I’ll have to see who it is when he gets here.”
“That’s completely unnecessary,” I say, feeling panic rise in my chest. The last time I was interested in a boy, Jared acted like an overprotective father, only worse. In some ways, Jared likes to be the man of the house since our father died. I wouldn’t take that away from him, but it doesn’t stop the mortification when he embarrasses me, or himself. Fortunately, with the last guy, Jared’s behavior didn’t have time to escalate because after two dates I didn’t want to see him anymore.
“Try to stop me,” he says calmly, stuffing the pillow behind his head. The look he’s giving me is clearly a challenge to protest.
Narrowing my gaze at him, I hear an exasperated sigh leave with my next breath. At six-foot-four Jared towers over me by ten inches. He’s also exponentially stronger than I am.
A subtle change in the air makes me glance over at the window again. I wonder where Marcus is. He tends to hang around on the back deck, or in the yard. I think he’s giving Jared and me some privacy since I have the unusual ability to see angelic beings. I don’t know if Marcus knows about my date with Nathaniel. I don’t know if Nathaniel is even allowed to do something so human.
The feeling passes and I say, “Whatever,” knowing it’s useless to argue with a wall. “Now it’s your turn. What’s going on? You didn’t just come in here to harass me about my smelly lotion and tell me how I look.”
Jared sits up in the chair and cracks his knuckles. Realization dawns quickly that his fiddling and stalling is from strong emotion. He stops flexing his knuckles, but the fingers on his left hand start to practice imaginary scales on the guitar.
“Caleb and the band are back,” he says.
I nod encouragingly and wait to speak because I suspect there’s more.
“They played five shows with Blue Nouveau and now we have an offer to tour with The Shy Lights. The guitarist who subbed for me is all right, but…”
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m standing on my bed, jumping up and down and spinning in circles. “Wow, you did it! This is awesome!” I break into a chorus we wrote together. “When your time has come, will you ride your train? Or will you keep playin’ games, and hold onto your pain?”
I jump onto the floor and throw myself in his lap, squeezing him around the neck. His band is touring with not one, but two famous bands. The exposure so far this summer is more than he could have ever wished for. Plus the record deal with Castle Hill. It’s his wildest dreams come true. With an exaggerated grunt, he pushes me off and I leap back onto the bed, continuing to celebrate and make a delighted fool of myself.
Mid “whoo-hoo” I freeze and stare slack-jawed at the wall. “Wait,” I say, slowly rotating on my axis to stare at Jared. “What are you going to do? You know what’s going to happen if you leave the house.”
Realization hits me like being boxed up-side the head with a bag of cement. I sink to the bed in a defeated heap. His expression hasn’t changed much. No doubt because he’s already thought this through and knows he can’t go on tour with an Angel of Death trailing at his heels.
“Jules, this is my decision.”
His rigid face makes me brace myself against whatever he’s about to say.
“I have to do everything I can to make this happen. Not only for me but for my band. They’re coming over tonight to go over everything. We’re supposed to start recording soon. Our new album isn’t even done yet. The first show with this tour is in a couple weeks.”
“But,” I say, and stop. If I were in his situation wouldn’t I do the exact same thing?
He gives me a fragile smile. We both know there’s no argument that hasn’t already been spun around a hundred times. He’s been humoring me for the last three days, promising not to leave the house. So far nothing fatal has occurred, but the truth is, we both know there’s limited time left for my beautiful brother.
I shake my head over the dilemma he’s facing. “This blows. I’ll figure something out. You have to go on tour and to the recording studio. I get it, Jared. I really do. I swear I’ll do everything I can to help.” My eyes immediately look over at the trunk where I put the book. Yep, I’m researching forbidden ideas about extending life, and hiding from death. It may not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I have to know all our options. Don’t I?
Jared’s shoulders sag with relief and his smile strengthens. Was he expecting a fight from me? Probably. Even the energy around him shifts visibly. Jared’s aura is mostly shades of blue with some greens and browns, even a little yellow. After I didn’t argue with him all the colors seem to brighten.
“You’re doing it again,” he tells me.
“What?” I say and refocus on his sparkly brown eyes. Now that I’m noticing it, his sparkle has returned. Did it just happen in the last few seconds, or is it that I haven’t been paying attention? I’ve been so wrapped up with thoughts of Nathaniel, Jared’s drug problems, and Angels of Death I didn’t notice Jared’s sparkly vibe had almost been extinguished. He used to catch everyone’s attention like a falling star. Actually, his endearing, suave personality was more like a meteor crashing to earth in a fiery ball of flame and everyone was like, “Over here! Land on me! Crash into my yard! We’ll keep you as a
pet.” Lately, I’ve been afraid he swapped his infectious charisma for meth and marijuana. Seeing it again is a relief I can’t begin to express.
“What is it? Why were you looking at me like that?”
“Err, nothing,” I say.
The tilt of his eyebrow tells me he’s not going to let me off so easily.
I try again. “You’re looking better, that’s all. Healthier,” I add.
Telling Jared what his aura looks like isn’t so bad, but the slight skepticism is always there when I try to explain what I see with words. If he wasn’t skeptical, I’d be worried. Ghosts, demons, fairies, angels, and floating colors around people all sound bizarre. From all my paranormal experiences, I’ve learned you can’t judge anyone until you’ve walked a mile…you know the rest of that line. Unfortunately, too many people in this world seem to keep up the practice of judging others like it’s a religion. I’m not sure anyone can really understand what it’s like for me unless they share the same supernatural skills. The only person I know who does, and can see even more than I do, is my shaman friend, Chris Abeyta. To everyone else I say nothing, or keep my answers generic.
“Good, ‘cause I have more to do than God,” he says. Jared sucks in a deep breath, his chest expanding beneath his T-shirt. “You know…while I still can.”
His gaze slides over to the window. I think I know what, or should I say who, he’s looking for.
Chapter Five: The New and the Old
Nathaniel
“You have permission to pass,” Vivi says just before we cross an arched wooden bridge on the east side of a two-story log home.
The creek beneath the bridge is as clear as mountain water should be. Staring straight down to the bottom of the lazy stream I watch a small brook trout treading water in the lee of a large stone.
“Nice place, Ms. Vivi,” I say, as I try to make sense of her choice of words.
“You would not have been able to cross had I not invited you,” she says.
“Then I thank you, but you should know right off that I wouldn’t commit any negative acts against you,” I say trying to get a hold on where she is going with this.
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