Ink and Ashes

by Valynne E. Maetani

  “I’ve got to run to the hardware store,” he said. “I shouldn’t be too long. For now though, I think we should try to fly under the radar, maybe stick around the house instead of going anywhere.”

  “Sure.” I agreed with him anyway. Last night’s fire had me a little shaken.

  He left, and I folded the mat and leaned it against the wall. I went upstairs and jumped in the shower, then sat at my desk and stared out my front window. The boys were still in the yard, picking up branches and raking leaves. I probably should have gone outside and helped them, but I couldn’t bring myself to see the damage up close in the daylight yet. A big part of our tree had burned, but I hoped enough was left that it could survive.

  The police had taken the mannequin with them so they could submit it into evidence, but the image of the charred body wearing my uniform stayed with me. Was that the future someone had in store for me? My mind whirled, not really catching on any one thought about the events of the last several weeks. Before I knew it, an hour had passed, my brothers had finished outside, and I was still no closer to any conclusions, except that I didn’t want to remain a prisoner in my own home because someone thought they could scare me.

  A soft knock hit my door. “Claire?” Fed pushed open the door slowly.

  I spun the chair around. “Hey, Fed. What’s up?”

  “What happened to your tree? It looks like a bomb hit your front yard.”

  Fed flopped his gangly body onto the bed, and I noticed he was hanging over every edge in a way he hadn’t last year. He wasn’t quite as tall as Nicholas and was a lot skinnier, but he was definitely getting there.

  I told him about the break-in, and the effigy, and the fire in the tree. “I don’t know how you didn’t hear all the sirens and everything, even at the end of the street.”

  “Crap, Claire. Are you scared?” He sat up, eyes wide, lips parted. “That’s a stupid question. Of course you’re scared. Uh, not that you’re a chicken or anything, that’s not what I’m saying, I mean, I would be scared if I were you.”

  “It’s fine, Fed. I get it.” I got off my chair and sat next to him on the bed. “And yeah, I’m kind of scared.” Except I was more than kind of scared, and I didn’t know what I could do to stop all of this, and that scared me even more. Would I always be afraid of what bad thing was coming next?

  Fed stood up. “Okay well, never mind then. I was going to ask you for a favor, but that would be pretty uncool right now. Hang in there.” He headed toward the door.

  “What did you need?”

  He turned back to look at me. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’d feel bad—”

  “Fed.” I got to my feet. “What do you need?”

  He flashed his toothy grin, bunching up his freckled cheeks. “I need a ride to work because Nicholas abandoned me.”

  I tilted my head. “Abandoned you?”

  “He’s at a debate tournament and Mom’s working. But seriously . . .” He waved both hands at me.

  “Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my car keys and wallet from my top drawer. I told myself I could do this. I wasn’t going that far. I’d be back before Dad got home. Maybe whoever was doing this wanted me to sit home and to be afraid, but I didn’t have to let myself be bullied.

  “Thanks.” He put his arm around me like Nicholas always did, but it about knocked his featherweight body over when he pulled me next to his side.

  Fed fidgeted in his seat, dancing to the music from the radio. Every few seconds, he’d change the station, dance around, then change the station again.

  Normally I would have made him choose one station and stick with it, but my head crowded with questions. Chase had been at our house looking for someone, but why couldn’t he have called or texted him? Or her. But it still didn’t make sense. The most recent events made me think it was more likely everything was tied to my father rather than someone at school.

  But our father had died more than ten years ago. What would someone have to gain by terrorizing us now? Hopefully it would remain terrorizing rather than escalating to something worse.

  I eased the car down the winding roads of our neighborhood and made a right turn at the stop sign.

  “Hey, so do you think you can take me shopping this weekend? I need to get a birthday present for Parker.”

  “Seriously? Are you forgetting someone else’s birthday? Mine is before his, remember?”

  Parker was a senior, and I was a junior. But in age, Parker was ten days shy of being a full year older than I was. I don’t know why Mom had had us so close together, but for those ten days we were the same age, I made sure his life was miserable.

  I checked my mirrors and signaled to get into the left lane.

  “Relax. I already got your present,” he said. “And you will totally love it. I think. So will you take me?”

  “Maybe.”

  I rolled to a stop at a red light in the left turning lane. The phone rang over the speakers, and the touch screen displayed Dad’s name. I pushed the button on my steering wheel to answer.

  “Where are you?” Dad asked.

  “I’m dropping Fed off at work. Why?”

  “Because I got home and you weren’t here,” he said. “What part of ‘flying under the radar’ did you not understand?”

  I threw a hand in the air. “Dad, all I’m doing is dropping Fed off like a mile away. I’ll come right back. You’ll see me in ten minutes.”

  “Come straight home after you drop him off,” he growled, and hung up.

  “Is that not what I said I would do?” I said to the dead phone line.

  “Uh, sorry about that.” Fed fiddled with the buttons again. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you take me. This is getting serious, Claire. When someone blows up your tree, and they blow it up with you in it, you know, the fake you, and they violate your room, and all that other stuff too? Then I think you have to consider maybe they’re trying to send you a message.” His voice soared to a high pitch.

  “You think?” I was often surprised and amused at how long it could take for someone so academically intelligent to conclude the obvious.

  “Okay, maybe you already knew that, but in my experience—and by experience I mean manga and anime—usually someone only does stuff like this if they want something someone else has, so they intimidate you until you give it up, or they want revenge. Besides Chase, who do you know that would fit into those categories?”

  No one would want anything I had, and even if this was tied to my father’s days in the yakuza, what did that have to do with me or the rest of my family? “I can’t think of anyone, and no one would want something of mine.”

  The light turned green, and I made my turn onto Highland.

  I didn’t need to look at Fed to know his forehead and eyebrows were pinched in, and he was biting his bottom lip—the expression he wore when his thoughts churned in never-ending circles like mine did. He stayed quiet for the next few minutes as I drove, but I could tell his mind was sifting through data.

  I turned into the parking lot of the strip mall where Fed worked as a fry cook at Stan’s, a popular hamburger joint where kids from our school liked to hang out.

  “I’m sorry I made your dad mad at you,” he said.

  “It’s not your fault. He’s being paranoid, and I mean, I’m worried too, but I refuse to let someone control my life so much that I can’t drive ten minutes away from my house.”

  “I get it,” he said.

  I pulled the car into a spot right in front of the fast food hot spot and put the car into park.

  Fed undid his seatbelt, climbed out of the car, and yanked his bag from the floor. “Thanks for the ride.” His thin lips broke into a big smile. “And I don’t suppose you could send someone else to pick me up when I’m done so I don’t get you in trouble?”

  “I’ll be here at five thirty. And I expect you to have a peppermint shake in hand for me. Don’t be stingy with the candy pieces.” I sighed. “Unless I’m not allowed to be out
side the house for more than ten minutes, in which case I’ll send my mom.”

  “Thanks.” He gave me a big smile and closed the door.

  The same thoughts reeled through my head as I started home on State Street. I outlined the chain of events. Was it possible that all of it was connected? I tried to imagine every event that had happened as a puzzle piece, but the pieces felt more like forcing circles into triangular holes.

  I glanced in my rearview mirror before I signaled to switch into the left lane. The car behind me followed. I changed lanes a few more times. The same white car happened to be there in the rearview mirror.

  Probably just a coincidence, I thought. Someone trying to beat State Street traffic. I was being paranoid.

  I switched lanes again. With every movement I made, the car waited a second, then followed. Not likely another coincidence. It wasn’t a black SUV, so maybe it was a police car, the kind that looked like a normal car until the headlights flashed red and blue. Mom and Dad would kill me if I got another speeding ticket. I was only going four miles over the speed limit.

  I slowed down to exactly the speed limit and waited, semihoping for the car’s lights to flash. When nothing happened, my pulse rate took flight. I changed lanes a couple more times, and the car continued to trace my movements.

  New, disheartening thoughts slithered to the forefront of my mind, thoughts I wasn’t allowing myself to entertain up until now. I muttered a string of curse words. There were worse things than a police car that might be following me.

  At the next light, I made a right turn onto Franklin Avenue, swerving to make the turn at the last possible moment. The car followed. I accelerated, but our minivan wasn’t known for its speed. I tried to catch a glimpse of the driver, but the windows were tinted to a dark shade that was most certainly illegal.

  I sped up the street and ran a red light at Alta View Parkway, but the car followed, causing other vehicles to swerve. So I sped up the hill, passing Franklin High School. As soon as there was a break in oncoming traffic, I did a U-turn as fast as the minivan would allow me. My wheels squealed as I spun the car around to head in the opposite direction along Franklin Avenue.

  The car kept driving the direction I’d come from, letting me drive back to the intersection before it followed suit and turned around. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking. When I got to the next light, I whipped into a right turn at Alta View.

  All sounds around me faded. With fingers trembling, I picked up my phone to dial 911, but it slipped and flew to the floor of the passenger side.

  My hands tensed at the steering wheel and my breaths quickened. I needed to focus. As long as Bluetooth was still connected, I could make a call. The keypad wouldn’t be enabled on the touch screen unless I brought the car to a full stop, so I all I could do was dial one of the preset numbers. Why hadn’t I added 911 to the car’s speed dial list? I pressed the phone button on the steering wheel. The GPS map disappeared from the screen and my speed dial numbers appeared. I selected Dad’s number.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  My heart beat faster.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  An automated voice came through the speakers. “You have reached 801—”

  I ended the call with the button on my steering wheel. Mom was at her aerobics class and wouldn’t answer.

  I pushed the button on my steering wheel to make another call.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  Come on, Forrest, pick up the phone!

  Ring. Ring.

  “What’s up, Claire?” He sounded as if I had just woken him.

  “Forrest—” My voice broke. “There’s a car following me.”

  “Are you sure? The black car?”

  “I’m positive.” I pushed the words through chattering teeth. “But it’s not the black car. Call 911.”

  “Okay, um . . . um . . . just . . . um—Can’t you call them?” Only panicked breathing came from his end.

  “No. Just call for me!” I swerved into the next lane. “I’m heading north on Alta View, and I’m about to pass the gas station on the corner of 8800 South.”

  “I’m calling the police on our other phone right now,” he said. His voice trembled as much as mine. “Stay on the line with me.”

  I accelerated, until cars blocked me in on all sides. Alta View had too many lights. I had to get off this street. I checked my rearview mirror and saw three cars separating me and the white car. At the intersection I tried to change lanes to gain ground, even if it meant a gain of only one more car length.

  Forrest yelled through the phone, but I could barely hear him. “What does the car look like? What else should I tell them? Keep talking to me,” he said. “Are you there, Claire?”

  “I’m here.” My insides burned, heat blooming in my chest and radiating outward: neck, cheeks, stomach. I glanced in the side mirror and swerved into the right lane. The driver of the white car wove between cars and lanes, multiple horns sounding in complaint, and returned to my lane only two cars behind mine.

  “Keep talking to me, Claire. Are you okay? Keep talking to me. Please say something!” Forrest yelled. “Claire, tell me what the car looks like.” His voice was shrill—frantic.

  I tried to steady my thoughts. “White . . . four-door . . . sedan—maybe . . . Ford . . . Taurus.” I could barely keep it together enough to drive and speak at the same time. “Dark . . . tinted . . . windows.”

  The white car veered away from me into the left lane, then skidded into the middle of the road, driving down the turning lane separating the opposite directions of traffic. Without any cars in its path, it cut the distance between us by one car, and then another, until the nose of its car was even with mine.

  “For—rest.” His name barely escaped my lips and sounded more like grunts caught in gasps for air.

  “I’m going to silent for a second to talk to the police, but I’m here,” Forrest said.

  For now, the left lane separated us, but it couldn’t travel in the turning lane forever. Eventually, another car from the opposite direction would need to turn, obstructing the car’s path. At least I hoped one would. All it would have to do is merge back into the regular lane in front of the car next to me, and we would be traveling side by side. Cars surrounded mine in every direction except to the right, the shoulder of the road. I yanked the steering wheel to swing the car into the shoulder. With no one ahead of me, I pushed the gas pedal to the ground. Each breath came faster.

  The white car cut across all lanes amid blaring horns and screeching brakes, barely missing cars, until it was right behind me.

  The steering wheel shook. I couldn’t steady my hands. The car jerked and zigzagged. The pulse in my neck quivered.

  I barely remembered how to drive now. The wheel slipped from my quaking hands. Every move came from some unknown instinct—impulse—inside of me.

  The hum of the engine in the car behind grew louder. The whirring sound clawed into my ears.

  Five minutes. About five minutes and I would be home. I cursed. If I hadn’t taken so many detours trying to lose the car chasing me, I would have already been home. Ahead of me was an intersection, and several cars in the right turning lane. If they were turning right, I wouldn’t be able to keep driving straight on the shoulder.

  I whipped a sudden right turn onto Creek Road, barely missing other cars turning the same direction—legally. The car followed me down the hill, its hood edging closer in the rearview mirror. I could feel it creeping in. Breathing down my neck. I gulped for air.

  As the road began to level, the car crashed into my rear bumper. My forehead slammed into the steering wheel. The steering wheel cycloned out of my control. I screamed as the wheels left the road and the world outside spun like a carnival ride. Forrest yelled.

  Boom! The van hit a curb and flew into a landscaped area running parallel to the street. The decorative rocks filling the long distance between trees pinged like popcorn as the car skidded across the gravel. M
y head smashed into the side window and glass clinked against my face.

  There was a tree.

  The front end of the minivan jilted upward, clambering up the tree’s trunk like a ramp with the bumper pointing straight at the sky. Creaking metal rang in chorus until the car flipped onto its backside.

  The seat belt yanked against my chest. I tried to suck in air, but the wind had been knocked out of me.

  The left side of my head felt like it had been thrown against a bed of nails. Warm liquid streamed down my face. Up my face, I thought blurrily.

  The blaring horn. The groans of the engine. Glass shattering everywhere.

  Complete silence crept in and I drifted into darkness. Forrest’s screams slipped away.

  PAIN LIT ACROSS my body like the wildfires that demolish the Wasatch Mountains on hot desert days. Throbbing pierced my skull and sank into my teeth. The torture burrowed down into places I never knew existed. Death could not possibly cause so much physical agony.

  The smell of antiseptics overwhelmed me. I must have been in a hospital.

  “Claire.” Forrest’s voice was much softer now.

  I stretched my fingers to him.

  “Claire, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” His familiar voice soothed my ears.

  The room was shadows and darkness. I gathered my strength, moaning as I craned my head to catch a glimpse of his face, but realized my left eye was swollen shut. He leaped from a chair next to my bed, grasping my hand in both of his and pressing his forehead to my wrist. His breath felt feverish against my icy skin. “Claire, I’m so sorry this happened to you.” His voice crumbled.

  “Me too,” I said in a hoarse whisper. I squinted, my right eye adjusting to the dim light, and could see his eyes, big puddles of blue, taking me in. I tried to crack a smile, but the swelling prevented me from moving too much. “Why am I here?”

  His eyes opened wider. “You don’t remember?”

  I combed through my memories. “The last thing I remember is leaving the parking lot after I dropped off Fed at work.”

  He explained what had happened. From his end, I could see how scary that must have been to hear what was going on but not be able to do anything about it.