Disconnected

by Lisa M. Cronkhite

  Looking around, I notice a young girl in a black dress, around my age, standing on the other side of the eatery. It’s weird. Not that she’s just wearing black, but that she seems closer than everyone else, yet at a distance. Her hair is black, too—so black the lighting from the glass-window ceilings show flecks of blue in it. I feel like I’ve seen her before.

  Beth is too busy rambling about Lance; she doesn’t notice I’ve locked my eyes with the girl across the way as we wait for our food. I can’t seem to take my eyes off her; she’s amazingly beautiful and I feel as though time could stop if I looked at her long enough. I wonder why she is staring at me so intently, as if she wants to say something to me, as if she’s ready to speak yet something is holding her back. It’s eerie enough for me to break the stare and look away.

  Finally, we get our food and take a seat at the tables near the merry-go-round. The circling ride almost makes me dizzy. I look around for the strange girl. She is gone. It must have been my imagination. She couldn’t have disappeared that quickly. Yet I am haunted by the fact I know I’ve seen her before but I can’t pinpoint where or when.

  ***

  I am wiped out after the long day at the mall with Beth. We walked around so much I thought my legs would collapse. I am beat tired and ready to go to bed. Grandpa George has already been sleeping for a while and I am here alone in my room, by myself—well not really. Amelia thinks back to the time with Beth. She tells me I made a fool of myself when I accidentally missed throwing my plate of food away. She rambles inside my head over all the clumsy steps I took while I was with Beth. Constantly, she is saying in my mind, Watch, Milly, one day you will not have her as a friend anymore. And when that one day comes, you’ll only have me.

  I try to drown out her criticism while undressing and climbing into my pajama bottoms and large t-shirt that I got when Grandpa George and I went to Navy Pier downtown. As I lie down, I remember my parents taking me there.

  My father got us tickets for one of the boat rides and while we waited for the boat to dock, my father ran to one of those little concession stands for another beer. I could tell he was getting buzzed from his flushing red face. He was sweating profusely that day and it wasn’t even that hot out. I remember it was just after my fifth birthday and a cool day in the middle of August, during the Air and Water Show. As jet planes flew by, my mom pointed them out in excitement. I think she felt more excited than I did. She was always like that, happy and positive. I miss that to this day.

  But as the years went on, my father and his drinking wore her positive energy into the ground. She became so sad near the end, before the accident. It’s a shame they had to die.

  I rest my head softly on the pillow and let my eyes slowly close, and then drift into sub-consciousness. Amelia starts to enter my thoughts. She’s standing there in the blackness of my mind, waiting for me to notice, yet I am staring right through her.

  Trees start to form in the background. Then what looks like a small house made of brick. It’s too hard to tell with all the vines and leaves covering it. As I glide closer, the vines pull away and all the lights flick on in an eerie yellow glow. My vision becomes so vivid, I realize it’s my old home, where I used to live. I can’t tell whether I’m dreaming or not. Everything feels so real.

  She appears in the open doorway. She wants me to follow her into the house, waving for me to come. I get to the porch and open the screen door and immediately it smells like stale beer bottles. The place is ruined and I’m scared to go any further. What happened? I don’t remember ever seeing it like this. Amelia steps over the littered trash and the broken glass strewn about on the hardwood floor and proceeds to dance around in circles. I want to tell her to stop, as I can somehow feel the pain of her bleeding feet. When I get closer to her, she stops and holds up her finger to be quiet. Someone’s talking in the back room. And then there are a few more voices. It’s my father saying something to my mom. She’s crying.

  Amelia grabs my hand and walks me down the hall where I see a trail of blood. I’m not sure if it’s coming from her bleeding feet or from something else.

  We get to the room. There’s another person standing with them—a man. But I can’t see his face. Something’s wrapped around it, like a dark towel or sheet. They are all standing in a circle mumbling, yet it sounds like yelling. It just seems odd to me. Why would this man wear such a thing? Who is he? What does he want?

  Amelia and I quietly tiptoe, trying not to make any sounds. Yet as I step in, the floor creaks. Immediately the man covered with cloth turns around and walks briskly toward me.

  My heart races like a galloping horse. The thumping grows so loud I can’t make out what he’s saying as he steps toward me. And when he reaches to grab hold of me, I wake up.

  Chapter Three

  Amelia wakes me up in the middle of the night. This has been happening more frequently now.

  “What do you want this time?” I whisper under my breath. I glance at the glowing red on the digital clock: 5:45 a.m. It’s just an hour before I leave for school and I desperately need some sleep. She’s mumbling inside my head. Go to the window. Somehow she forces me out of bed and pulls my body toward the window. “Okay, you got me here, now what?” I ask softly.

  I stare for a while not noticing anything. Dawn is breaking through the clouds in an orangey-yellow hue on the east end of our house. The light early morning rays filter through the glass and touch my bedroom with warmth. In that moment I feel safe, like there isn’t anything wrong. Then suddenly, without warning, she urges me to stand closer and tells me to look down. Again I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. The high evergreens are crystallized in a light icing of snow and the maples try desperately to grow new buds on their black-veined branches. My eyes travel down to the softened earth. She compels me to open the window, so I do without question.

  It’s cold and quiet. Only the faint sound of chirping birds can be heard. There’s a stillness in the air as if the wind was waiting for its command from God himself to blow through the morning air.

  As I look toward the forest just across from the house, I see something standing behind the trunk of the large oak tree. I am taken aback. It’s something or someone, yet I can’t make out the face because it’s hidden behind the tree. Then I see the glistening bluish flecks of black hair reflecting the breaking light. My heart flutters at the sight of her. And there’s this subtle smell of magnolia in the air.

  She raises a hand, curling her finger for me to come, and for some reason I feel compelled to do so. My heart’s crawling on the edge of the windowsill just bursting to jump. I don’t realize I’m sticking halfway out until I feel a push from behind me. My arms suddenly slip from under me, yet luckily when I fall, it’s inward and back inside the room. God, that was close.

  I pull myself up from the floor and look again, but she’s gone. You want me dead, don’t you? You just can’t wait for this to be over. As I fight with Amelia in the deepest parts of my mind, she says nothing, does nothing. In a way, I feel alone when she isn’t there, like I want her to come back for some odd reason, as if being tormented is better than being completely alone.

  As I sit there under the open window, the cool breeze tickles my skin. The wind has finally come and is now whipping through the trees. It’s getting lighter outside and soon I will have to get ready for school. My mind wanders among past images. I don’t remember whether it was a dream or if it really happened. Ever since my parents’ death ten years ago, I don’t remember much of anything. It all seems to be in bits and pieces, and I sincerely don’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. Amelia’s blocked so much from my mind I’m not sure of anything. Just when I start to believe something to be true, Amelia tells me it is all just a bunch of lies. But what I do know and remember is that it wasn’t always like this. Amelia didn’t taunt me when we were little—when my mom and dad were alive. Back then, she was just my imaginary friend.

  We’d dance at the playground together, l
ike two best friends. She loved to play hopscotch, while I liked the swings. I’d swing as high as I could, so high I thought I would touch the sky and be swooped up by angels. We’d take turns doing all the fun things we enjoyed. She was always there for me and stood up for me too. Then when the accident happened, everything changed. Amelia changed and so did I.

  I try to remember the first time she turned on me, but this uncontrollable darkness hovers over me like an eclipse. I lie here curled up, hugging my knees close to my chest and feel the curtain brushing my face as the light breeze continues to blow. I don’t know if I’m half awake or sleeping when the sirens outside go off. There’s a burning smell in the air and the crackling of fire somewhere. Smoke fills the room like a gray fog. I must be dreaming, but when the smoke fills my lungs and I start to cough, I get scared and jump up. I wave my hands through the cloud of smoke and make my way down the stairs to my grandfather’s room.

  “Grandpa George? Please wake up!” I shout through the door. The smoke is burning my eyes. “Please Grandpa!” I reach for the knob, but it’s too hot to the touch. Kicking and banging, I finally hear him stirring on the other side of the door.

  “Dear God!” he says. “Amelia, are you okay?”

  Suddenly, I can’t speak. But I feel a force push me back away from the door. Within seconds, everything turns black.

  ***

  I wake up with a burning throat and an oxygen mask over my face. The room is sterile, with white walls and no windows. I feel boxed in. As I look around, I see through the small window in the door that there’s a long hall just outside the room. Oh, God, I’m in the hospital, but how? Grandpa George!

  I panic, take off the oxygen mask, and scurry out of the bed. I race to open the door, heading straight to the nurses’ station at the end of the hall.

  At the station I ask, “Can…can someone help me?” My voice is raspy, so I take a painful swallow and ask again. “Can someone please help me?” My pleas go unanswered. No one replies. All the nurses are busy doing something. One tall, blond-haired nurse doesn’t acknowledge me until the phone rings. “St. Luke’s Hospital, please hold,” she says to the person on the other end, while she holds up her index finger to me.

  I am getting impatient. I fidget uncontrollably, strumming my fingers on the counter and wiggling one foot as I wait. I watch the nurses go on about their business and feel like I’m just about invisible, disappearing into the whiteness of the walls until I ask again, “Please! I need to know where my grandfather is. Can someone please help me?”

  “Your name?” the blond-haired nurse asks in a curt tone, as if I am keeping her from her daily routine.

  “Milly…I mean, Amelia Norris.”

  I wonder where Amelia’s gone running off to. After saying her name, I think of the reasons why she is being so silent with me. I wonder if she’s just as scared as I am. I’m almost irritated that I haven’t heard from her.

  The nurse looks through my file, thumbing through the pages, then closes the manila folder and says, “Yes, I will have the doctor speak with you soon, please go back to your room.”

  I walk back to the room in defeat; I don’t know what else to do. One minute I am banging on the door for my grandfather to escape and the next I’m here. It doesn’t add up. All I remember is the smoke and not seeing much…and that strange girl across the street.

  ***

  I saunter to the bed and take a seat. The sheets are stiff and smell like the doctor’s office. “What happened?” I say to myself. It’s all your fault Milly, he’s dead. Just like they all are. Now you have no one. “Stop!” My voice is loud enough to attract a passing nurse. She comes inside the room. “Is everything okay?” She’s an older lady, maybe in her fifties I’m assuming, with short curly brown hair interspersed with gray. She’s holding a clipboard and checking my chart.

  “No! Everything’s not okay! I don’t know what happened. Where’s my grandfather?” I crank my voice up louder. I don’t know what more to do, other than knock the nurse down and bolt out of this hell hole. But that’s impossible.

  “Calm down, sweetie,” she says, sitting me down, back on the bed. “He’s fine. He’s been in the waiting room practically all the time since he brought you in a few days ago.”

  “Days?”

  “Yes, you came in with smoke inhalation. It takes a long time for it to clear your lungs. Here, let me get you something to relax. You need your rest.” She leaves for a few minutes and then comes back with two small white tablets and a cup of water. “Here, take this. It will help you sleep,” she says, handing me the pills.

  Don’t take it, they are trying to sedate you, Amelia tells me. You’re here to stay. You’re locked up now, Milly. Deal with it.

  For a moment I struggle with the idea that Amelia’s right, maybe I am here for good. Maybe this is all my fault. But I am too nervous to argue with the nurse so I take the pills and lie down.

  Questions clutter my mind till I’m just about ready to crack my brain into a million different pieces. How did the fire start? Why can’t I remember coming here? Why do things like this keep happening?

  I’ve suffered so long in the shadows of vagueness that I can’t tell if it was a dream or a distant memory. All that lost time in my life, wasted. I can’t keep letting Amelia ruin my life like this. I need to know. This time I promise myself I’ll find the answers.

  Chapter Four

  I spent three more grueling days in the hospital, and was sincerely glad to finally get out. Although the nursing staff turned out to be very kind and caring, Amelia and I came to an agreement on one thing, which doesn’t happen often: We both wanted to get well enough to leave.

  But we couldn’t live in Grandpa George’s house anymore, so we had to move in here with my Aunt Rachel. This house is the one my mother and Aunt Rachel grew up in, which Grandpa gave to Aunt Rachel when he moved out, but I don’t think I’ve ever been here before. It’s a large Victorian in Monee, a small South Suburban community with scenic views of the forest preserves, about an hour away from Chicago. So, pretty-much out in the boondocks. Grandpa George made arrangements for me to continue my senior year at Harper Valley High, but I have to take two buses to get there.

  The first few days, moving in and getting settled, were strange. I was hesitant and felt uneasy, since Aunt Rachel doesn’t seem to like me. From her dagger stares and cold remarks I get the feeling she wishes I was never born. At one time she was a successful romance novelist who lived in New York, famous for writing about orphaned girls from tragic backgrounds who grow up to find love, but after having financial troubles she moved back here—I’m not sure when. Now she stays here all alone and continues to write, looking for her next big break.

  It’s hard to believe this place was vacant for so long. Grandpa George said he moved out because he was getting too old to be alone in a huge house like this. He mentioned a few times how it was too much to take care of, so he bought the small house on Kosgrove Street. I guess he and Aunt Rachel never got along, but now they seem to have a sort of awkward truce.

  But I must say, the house’s Victorian structure is quite beautiful, with its ornate wooden patterns outlining the house in a rustic trim. The pointed roofs are so sharply peaked that they look like you can prick your finger on the tips. And there’s so much greenery around here—a huge botanical garden with budding flowers and trees. The front of the house is all fenced in with tall black iron fencing and a security gate. You have to punch in a code to get in, or use a remote if you’re in a car.

  Amelia dares me every day to go into a new and different room. Aunt Rachel doesn’t like me snooping around though. Most of the time Amelia forces me to ignore what Aunt Rachel says.

  Aunt Rachel is the type of person who, as famous as she is, doesn’t seem to have a clue about the real world—or me. Most of the time she hides in the library on the ground floor and works on her computer, toiling away on her next novel. And she says never to bother her when she’s in there. But of c
ourse Amelia begs me to knock on the door and bug her for something, anything, just to get under Aunt Rachel’s skin.

  Everything is different here. More difficult. In the week since the fire I haven’t seen Beth. Plus it’s hard to communicate with her since I can’t find my phone. We only managed to salvage a few things from the fire, thanks to the smoke and water damage. I think the police investigated, but I was in the hospital. Grandpa George said it was just a freak accident, and told me not to worry about it. He’s just thankful we made it out in time. So that mystery remains. But things are different with him too. Seems he’s gotten even more protective of me now. Then there’s the noises.

  A few nights after we moved in with Aunt Rachel, I heard faint cries coming from the attic above the upstairs hallway. Amelia wanted to find out what it was, but I talked her out of it. When I asked Aunt Rachel she just passed it off as some rats crawling up there and made a remark about having to call for an exterminator. But to me, it doesn’t sound anything like rats.

  I unpack my things that are still in boxes and look around my oversize room. The huge glass windows are draped with heavy blood-red curtains, and the walls are painted in a dreadful gray. Aunt Rachel says it’s the warmest room in the house, and since it was my mother’s room, she thought I might like it. That’s about the only thing that’s remotely comforting in this room. Well, the queen-size bed all encased in gold Egyptian-cotton sheets helps too. But I still wonder if I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Amelia continues to scare me. She tells me she hears things—odd things. But I don’t believe her, or try not to at least.

  I drown myself in Amelia’s taunting as I open up a box. Crack the window, break the glass, you know you want to. Lately, she’s been going down the list of ways she could hurt me, like she’s done so many times before. Why, just the other day she made me bleed again.