Don't Die, Dragonfly

by Linda Joy Singleton

  “A precious one. Your ability isn’t for you—it’s for the world.” She looked deep into my eyes and added, “My darling Sabine—you are the gift.”

  *

  That night, a sharp noise jerked me out of a dream where my mother had grown into a giant and was chasing me around the barn, trying to stomp me with spiked, truck-sized boots.

  Bolting up in my bed, I looked around expecting Mom to burst out from the shadows. I stared around my familiar room and drew comfort from the soft yellow glow of my smiley-faced nightlight. I didn’t need to check Nona’s dream interpretation book to understand my nightmare. Right before I’d gone to bed, Nona had delivered the bad news. My mother had called again, only instead of leaving a new message for me to ignore, she was coming to see me next week.

  I’d rather be stomped by giant, spiked shoes.

  But the dream wasn’t what had awakened me, I realized when I heard a sharp bang and cry from downstairs.

  Putting on a robe, I hurried to Nona’s office and found the door wide open, a triangle of light slicing into the hall. My grandmother sat on the floor among a pile of papers with a terrified look on her face.

  “I—I can’t find it,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Find what?” I sat beside her and gently took her hand.

  “That’s the problem—I don’t know.”

  “What’s going on? Nona, you’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring me, too.” She gave a brittle laugh and wiped her cheek. “I’ve been putting this off—telling you—but I can’t anymore.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will soon.” Papers scattered as she stood. “Follow me.”

  There was something desperate and determined in her voice that stopped me from asking any more questions. Silently, I walked behind her as she stepped outside, passed the chicken pen, and entered the barn. She snapped on a light, then called upstairs to Dominic.

  “Why are we here?” I whispered anxiously. “We’ll wake up Dominic.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  A door from the loft creaked open and Dominic’s tousled head peaked out. I could only see the top of his bare shoulders and a glimpse of dark shorts.

  He only needed one look at Nona’s grim expression; then, he turned around and returned a moment later fully clothed. He opened the door in invitation, and Nona led me upstairs toward his apartment.

  Dominic pulled up two chairs and gestured for us to sit, while he faced us on the edge of his rumpled bed. It felt odd to sit so close to him, and I scooted my chair back a few inches.

  Nona clutched at the fabric of her terry-cloth robe and biting her lips. “Dominic, it happened again … only worse.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “That isn’t the issue right now. I have to be honest with both of you. What I’m going to tell you won’t be easy,” she said in a quavering voice.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Dominic said, his tone protective.

  “I want to—while I still can.”

  I looked at Nona. “Does this have to do with whatever you lost tonight?”

  “That’s part of it. You’ve probably noticed that’s happened a lot, my forgetting or losing things. At first it was small episodes, missing keys or not calling back a client. Then tonight I panicked and started tearing apart my office.”

  “What did you lose?” I asked.

  “It’s not what I lost, but what I’m losing.” She lifted her shoulders and gave Dominic a steady, determined look. “Get the box.”

  “But you told me never to—”

  “Just get it for me,” she said firmly. “Please.”

  Dominic’s jaw tightened stubbornly, but he didn’t argue. He rose and crossed the room, stopping before a wall portrait of a forest scene. Dominic lifted the picture and set it down, then pressed one hand against the wall where I saw the faint square outline of a hidden cupboard.

  “Here,” Dominic said a bit angrily, withdrawing an antique silver box and handing it to Nona. “I hope you’re doing the right thing.”

  “What is it—Pandora’s box?” I half-joked.

  But no one laughed, and I sensed that my joke held a deep truth.

  Nona didn’t open the box, instead reaching for my hand. “Sabine, there’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” I started to interrupt, but she put her hand up. “Let me say this before I lose my nerve. You see, I—I’m not well. It’s a genetic affliction. One that goes back nearly three hundred years.”

  “Nona!” I choked out. “You’re not—”

  “No, it isn’t fatal, but it might as well be,” she said bitterly. “I watched my great-aunt Letitia suffer from it, and by the time I learned there was a cure, she was beyond help.”

  “So there’s a cure?” I asked hopefully.

  “Yes. But—” Her voice quavered. “But it was lost during a dark period in our family history. One of our ancestors created a remedy, then had to hide it when she was accused of being a witch. Directions to the hiding place were divided between her four daughters, including a many-times great-grandmother of mine.”

  “Is that what’s in the box?”

  “No. But it’s a clue—and Dominic has been helping me figure it out.”

  “Why him and not me?” I asked, fighting the hurt.

  “You know that answer,” she replied with a pointed look. And I sagged in my chair, blaming myself for denying my gift for so long. Wasted time when I could have been helping Nona.

  “Tonight I didn’t even remember going into my office,” she went on in a frightened voice. “It’s happening more and more, moments of my day becoming black holes. Moments, minutes, lost memories. Soon I may even forget you.”

  I swallowed back tears, fighting to be brave for my grandmother, although my heart was breaking. I’d never been happier than these months living with her. I couldn’t lose that—lose her.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “Work with Dominic to find the remedy.”

  “Him?” I shot a resentful glance at Dominic, then swallowed my pride and gave a slow nod. “Okay. How do I start?”

  “With this.”

  She lifted the ornate silver box and placed it gently in my arms.

  “Everything you need is inside. Go ahead—open it.”

  He’d carefully planned the escape.

  Only when he heard the sputter and backfire of his uncle’s truck fade to a distant rumble did Dominic push off the rough blanket and spring from his cot. Adrenaline pumping, he opened the door of the mud room; the airless hole which doubled as his bedroom reeked of diesel from the jackets hanging like dead things on the wall. He hated the room almost as much as he hated his uncle.

  Almost.

  The door thudded behind him as he left for the last time. His uncle had made no pretense about his hate for Dominic, resenting that the only inheritance he’d gained from the untimely death of his younger sister was a rough-edged teen. Uncle Jim only tolerated his orphaned nephew for the monthly government checks.

  Although Dominic knew enough not to expect a loving home, he hadn’t been prepared for his uncle’s drinking, bad temper, and cruel hand. But bitter lessons quickly taught him how to hide on Saturday nights and never to argue when his uncle’s whip was within reach.

  His only solace was Volcano, his uncle’s hunting dog. Volcano was about eight years old, some kind of shepherd-lab mix, and starved for attention. Together they shivered outside on bitter nights, hiding from drunken anger and the whip. It was during these trembling times that an odd thing happened. Boy and dog communicated—not in words but in mental picture messages. A warm blanket, a bowl of food, a scratch behind the ears—Dominic always knew what Volcano needed, and the dog understood him, too.

  But last night Uncle Jim’s cruelty ignited the beginning of the end.

  Sounds of yelping and swishing leather bled in the night. Dominic, hiding high in a tree, heard the cruel attack but was
unable to do anything but cringe and burn with helpless rage. He lacked fighting strength—his painful wounds from recent beatings left him too weak to do more than huddle in the dark. When the brutal sounds died away and the house door slammed, Dominic made his way back to Volcano, cradling the whimpering dog and vowing “never again.”

  All that night he cradled his only friend, crooning words of comfort, unable to sleep as he stared up at the ceiling, planning.

  Escape was the only way out.

  He’d take Volcano far away, to someplace without anger and whips—if such a place existed. His mother had believed in the good in people, and made excuses for her older brother even after he attacked their father and stole money before leaving home. As she breathed her last breath, she’d still believed in impossible things like heaven, forgiveness, and love.

  Now hate was the only reality for Dominic; it was the driving force that pushed him. If he stayed any longer, his simmering violence would erupt and things might happen that would make him no better than his uncle.

  “Come on, boy,” he whispered to Volcano as he gently lifted off the spiked collar and released the dog. Blood-slashed stripes lay across the dog’s back, and Dominic’s anger seethed. He found a cloth, dampened it, and gently rubbed Volcano’s silky brown fur, brushing away dried blood and untangling mats.

  Holding tight to his self-control, Dominic watched the soothing images Volcano sent to him, of wagging tails and a soft bed in a safe house. Volcano held no hate; there was only hope shining from his liquid dark eyes.

  Dominic had already decided that the only way to protect Volcano was to find him a new home: a house with a big yard, kids, and a soft doggy bed where he could safely sleep at night. So he packed a small knapsack of clothes and pictures of his lost life, also taking along a black pen and square of cardboard.

  They trudged miles to the nearest town, through a forest of uneven ground and then down a long winding highway. As morning heated to humid afternoon, Volcano whined and sent a mind image of a big bowl of water.

  “Sorry, boy,” Dominic said in a hoarse, dry-mouth voice. “But soon.”

  River Crest was too small to be considered a city, with its one church, two bars, post office, and small store. The wooden bench in front of the store provided rest and shade. Dominic longed to buy water for Volcano and a Coke for himself, but he had no money. There was nothing to do but wait, and cling to a remote hope that his mother’s belief in the deep-down goodness of people was true.

  On the cardboard, he wrote a simple message: Free dog to good home.

  Then they both waited; the dog thumped his tail hopefully whenever little kids walked by, but Dominic kept his face averted, emotionless. He didn’t care if he was sweaty and dirty in hard-worn clothes. He didn’t care about the hunger that gnawed at his gut. He only cared about the dog, faithful and trusting and deserving of a better life.

  But there didn’t seem to be a morsel of goodness from people who passed by—only curiosity and suspicion. When a little girl asked if she could pet the dog, her mother slapped her hand and hustled her inside the store.

  After several long, hot hours, the store owner strode out, his thinning head dripping with sweat and his mustache drooping in a perpetual scowl. “Customers have been complaining,” he told Dominic with no heart in his words. “You and your mutt will have to move on.”

  His mother was wrong about there being some good in everyone, Dominic thought.

  Holding himself proud, he stood to leave, sending comforting thoughts to Volcano.

  “Wait!” a woman’s voice rang out. “Young man, please come here.”

  Dominic turned. He noticed how the store owner tensed, as if the woman—with her graying blond hair upswept under a wide-brimmed straw hat and her long flowered skirt sweeping dust out of her way—possessed some kind of power. There was something commanding in the lift of her chin, the soft and wise wrinkles around her eyes, and the forceful arch of her brows. And Dominic stopped.

  Instead of speaking to Dominic, the woman waved a scolding finger at the store owner. “Ron, have you offered this weary young man and his dog something to drink?”

  “What?” He wiped his damp forehead, shaking his head. “No, ma’am.”

  She frowned. “Well, why in heaven not? I can’t imagine a church-going man like you allowing an animal and a boy to suffer on such a hot day.”

  Sweat dripped from the store owner’s brow as he looked uneasily at Dominic, then back to the woman. “I have a business to run, ma’am.”

  “Which includes good customer relations.” She swiveled back to Dominic. “Young man, what do you like to drink?”

  Dominic hesitated, afraid this was a trick question. He wasn’t sure what was going on and was poised to run if things went bad.

  “Aren’t you thirsty?” the woman insisted.

  “Don’t matter about me.” Dominic kept his gaze low. “But my dog could use water.”

  “Go on, Ron, you heard the boy. And why not bring out two Cokes while you’re at it? If that’s a problem for you, add them to my bill.”

  “It’s not a problem.” With a frown, the store owner headed back inside.

  The woman bent over to read Dominic’s sign. “So you’re selling this fine dog?”

  “Not selling.” He shook his head. “I don’t own him.”

  “So who does?”

  “Volcano owns himself.”

  “Wise answer,” she said, with a smile that softened her wrinkles. “You have an intriguing aura, young man. And it’s clear you have a real bond with your dog. So why aren’t you keeping him?”

  “My uncle is allergic to dogs.”

  “What a shame. This must be hard on you.”

  “I’ll be fine. But Volcano deserves kids to play with and a big yard for running. He needs a good home.”

  “Looks like you do, too.”

  Dominic didn’t answer, cautious.

  “You live around here?” she asked.

  “No.” This would be true enough, soon.

  The store owner came out, his scowl deepening as he handed the woman two Cokes and set out a bowl of water for the dog. Abruptly, he strode back into the store.

  “Ron isn’t usually so gracious,” the woman said with a laugh.

  Dominic cracked a small smile, relaxing for the first time all day.

  “So would your dog like to go home with me?”

  “Do you have a big yard?”

  “Is ten acres big enough?”

  Dominic nodded, knowing his mother would have liked this unusual woman with her wide hat and bossy attitude. Dominic sent a message to Volcano, showing a doggy bed and the woman feeding him meaty bones. But Volcano whined, sending back a vision of himself beside Dominic.

  “He’d doesn’t care about bones or a dog bed,” the woman said. “He’d rather stay with you.”

  Dominic jumped back, staring suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

  “Sometimes I just know things.”

  “How?”

  “The same way you do.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You will when we meet again. Someday,” she said with a look that reached deep inside him. “But until then all I can do is take care of what you need now. So I will be honored to give your dog a good home.”

  “You will?” Suspicion shifted to something close to happiness.

  “I live on a farm where there’s plenty of room for your dog. My husband is an artist and he recently lost his dog of eighteen years. Volcano will be great company for him, and will have the run of our fields, then come inside every night and sleep in his own dog bed. Also, my granddaughter Sabine visits often and is a big animal lover.”

  Dominic didn’t know what to say; somehow this strange woman had said it all.

  Then came the hardest part—letting go of his only friend. He wished he could go, too, but Volcano would be safer starting over completely, with no ties to his former life. And Volcano seem
ed to understand this. After lapping up every drop of water, he calmly walked over to the woman and sat under the shade of her wide hat.

  The huge weight of worry lifted from Dominic.

  Volcano would be safe.

  “Contact me if you need anything,” she said, handing him a small card.

  He nodded, thanking her again and walking away before he lost the courage to leave. Only after he was a mile away, too far to run back, did he stop to read the business card. First he memorized the address, then slowly he read the woman’s name:

  Nona Wintersong

  Psychic Medium

  *

  Dominic trudged down a seemingly endless highway, his thumb out. He hoped a trucker would pick him up so he could travel far away to another state. But when nightfall came, his thumb was still out and a hole was worn through his right boot. Shivering with cold, he ached with a hunger so deep it stole his strength. Wearily, he turned from pavement and rushing vehicles toward the woods.

  When Dominic was little, he and his mother lived high on a wooded hill, his playground nature’s wild forests. His mother trusted him to roam outside, respecting his unusual rapport with animals: squirrels, raccoons, and even the shyest deer would nuzzle up to him. The woods had sheltered him the way his uncle should have.

  Once again he found refuge in nature. His night vision had always been unusually sharp, and with the help of a faint moon and the stars shining on the animal trails, he found bushes with ripe berries and a hollowed grassy spot perfect for sleeping. A doe and her fawn rested nearby, and although he didn’t know how to share mind images with them like he could with Volcano, their closeness calmed him.

  When morning brightened, he found a stream and drank cool water. Splashing his face, he felt more alive than ever, now that he was no longer chained to an uncle who despised him. He could live here, if he chose. Maybe he would … but somehow that felt wrong, as if he had a different destiny.

  He spent hours by the river trying to catch fish, but his rough stick-spear missed its mark. Berries and nuts eased his hunger, but only temporarily. As much as he longed to stay with his furred friends, he’d need to get a job. He could do odd jobs like mucking out stalls or mowing lawns, but who would hire someone not yet thirteen? He’d have to lie about his age and completely recreate his identity, or risk being returned to his uncle.