Atlantis Rising

by Gloria Craw

  The last thing I wanted to do was to move, but lying on the hard floor wasn’t helping my aching ribs. Using a nearby bookshelf, I hauled myself to a sitting position. Then I sat there in a miserable heap with a blood-soaked bandage hanging loosely from the side of my face.

  Ian came back carrying a roll of paper towels. He pulled the useless bandage off and gently blotted away blood. I hissed when he applied pressure over the wound. “I don’t think you’re going to need stitches,” he said in the same tone Nurse Paula had used, “but you should go to the hospital and get checked out anyway.”

  Hospitals always meant tests, and though the dewing man in the park had said the differences between humans and us couldn’t be detected, I never wanted to take the chance. “No, I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

  Our eyes locked and a few seconds passed before he agreed. “All right, no hospital. Tell me what happened.”

  I was trying to decide where to begin the story when Lillian came in. The look of horror on her face when she saw me slumped on the floor would have made me laugh if my ribs hadn’t hurt so much. Turning a suspicious look on the boy next to me, she retrieved something from the enormous black bag she was carrying. With a determined expression, she marched toward Ian, pointing a bottle of pepper spray at him.

  “No, Lillian!” I shouted. “Don’t spray him.”

  She blinked and then stopped with the bottle still raised. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath and explained as steadily as I could. “Some guy came in here and stole a book. I tried to stop him, but he hit me…then he kicked me. The important thing is Ian came in after he left.” Lillian’s grip on the bottle of pepper spray tightened instead of loosening. “I promise he’s not hurting me. He’s trying to help me.”

  Ian’s eyes were fixed on the bottle. “I found her bleeding on the floor,” he reaffirmed.

  Finally she put the weapon back in her bag. “You know better, Alison,” she said accusingly. “Never try to stop a thief. Whatever he took can’t have been worth the risk.”

  I hadn’t expected a thank-you card, but acknowledgment that I’d suffered bodily harm to protect her property would have been nice. I tried to straighten my back to ease out the pinch in my side. “It was one of your rare books,” I grumbled.

  “I don’t keep my rare things here, you know that.”

  “I found it on the floor,” I insisted. “It was packaged and taped up tight.”

  “Taped up tight,” she repeated. “Did it have an address on it?”

  “No.”

  She let out a long breath. “That package wasn’t for me. It was for you. Someone came in this morning, handed it to me and asked me to give it to the dark-haired girl who worked here. I was going to put it away someplace safe, but I got distracted by a customer.”

  I searched my mind for anyone who would have left a book for me. There was absolutely no one. “They got the wrong store and the wrong girl,” I said firmly. “I wasn’t expecting a book.”

  Ian seemed to ignore what I said. “If this was a robbery, we should call the police,” he suggested.

  I glared at him. “No hospitals or police.”

  Ian glanced at Lillian, hoping for backup, but she was undecided. “Technically, it was Alison’s book. I suppose she should make the decision.”

  “It wasn’t my book, so no police,” I insisted. “The package was delivered here by mistake, and the guy came to get what was his.”

  “He hit you,” Ian said. “That’s reason enough to call the police.”

  “It was probably just his reaction to the box cutter I was waving under his nose.”

  Both Lillian and Ian turned a surprised look at me. “What a stupid thing to do,” Lillian stated. “He could have grabbed the knife from you and slit your throat.”

  I had acted recklessly, but I couldn’t change any of it now. “Maybe it was a dumb move on my part,” I said, “but I’m fine, so there’s no need to call the police.”

  Lillian nodded to indicate I’d gotten my way. Then she extended a hand in Ian’s direction. “You must be the boy who knocked Alison out today. I apologize for pointing pepper spray at you.”

  I could see the wheels in his head turning as he associated the boy who knocked Alison out with himself. Like most people, he was dazed by her frankness. “Apology accepted,” he said.

  While Lillian took her turn admiring the damage above my ear, I looked around for my glasses. They’d fallen off again, and I couldn’t find them anywhere. Giving up, I smoothed my shirt down. The adrenaline rush had started to wear off, leaving me sore and exhausted. “Can we sit in a chair instead of on the floor?” I asked tiredly.

  “Perhaps the sitting area near the window would be good,” Lillian suggested.

  Just like before, Ian put an arm behind me and lifted me to my feet. I tried not to let on how badly my ribs hurt as he guided me to a chair. Lillian started to sit, too, but then changed her mind. “I’ll make sure the back door is locked,” she said, heading that way.

  Ian sat across from me. His face was flushed from his own adrenaline rush. “So, you ended up on the floor twice today,” he said. “Is that normal for you?”

  I let out a long breath. “No, fortunately it isn’t.”

  “What a relief. My heart can’t take another scare like that.”

  I couldn’t hold back a smile. “It’s all about you now?”

  “I didn’t say that…exactly.”

  “Why did you come back here?” I asked.

  “I thought maybe we could get some dinner and talk about our presentation some more.”

  I appreciated his help, and I was even coming to like him, but he wasn’t taking the hints I’d been throwing at him. Brutal honesty was required under the circumstances. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in going to dinner with you.”

  I expected some backtracking and awkwardness on his end, but he just leaned back in the chair and stretched his long leg out. Then he smiled one of his big smiles. “Sooner or later you’ll accept the invitation,” he said confidently. “Everyone does.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Hey, I’m just being honest,” he said with a wink.

  “And because I like honesty, I’m telling you straight up that I won’t go to dinner with you…ever.”

  My words were brutal, but he just stretched back a bit more. “Wanna bet on that? Fifty dollars says you have dinner with me within the month.”

  I was tempted to take the bet, if only to wipe the smug smile off his face. There was a problem, though. If things worked out the way I wanted, he wouldn’t remember who I was in a week, let alone a month. I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of collecting my winnings.

  “I’ll pass,” I said, checking my watch, “but I’ll accept that ride home if the offer is still open. I missed the last bus ten minutes ago.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “The back is locked up,” Lillian said, coming to sit with us. “I’ll set the alarm after the two of you leave.”

  That was Lillianspeak for get the heck out, but Ian didn’t know that.

  “Hey,” Ian said conversationally. “What did the person who left the package for Alison look like? If they come back, she should at least ask about it.”

  “There was nothing remarkable about him,” Lillian replied. “I think he was in his thirties. He was shorter than the two of you…light brown hair and eyes. I noticed a tattoo about halfway up his arm. It looked like vines or some kind of calligraphy. There were small flowers running through it. I thought it was an odd tattoo to see on a man.”

  Ian’s eyes widened and his head swiveled toward me.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Uh…nothing. Just sounds like a weird tattoo. I’d better get you home before your parents start to worry.”

  “They won’t start to wonder where I am for another half hour, and I don’t want to freak them by out walking into the house looking
fresh from a fight. Can you wait while I wash up?”

  I could see he wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of being left alone with Lillian. Not many people were. I gave him props for courage, though. “Sure,” he replied with false enthusiasm.

  I went to the bathroom and ran some water in the small sink. As I washed away my blood, I wondered what strange property in it helped me heal so quickly. After my adoption by the McKyes was finalized, my dad had ordered a complete medical workup for me. Being a doctor himself, he’d wanted to be sure any dangers to my health were dealt with immediately. He was a plastic surgeon, not a pediatrician, but he was certainly educated enough to spot any abnormalities in the test results. Neither he nor my pediatrician had found anything to worry about.

  Whatever helped me heal, I was grateful for it, because the pinch in my ribs was starting to ease up. If only it would work on the headache, too.

  When I got back to the front of the store, Lillian was staring at Ian, and Ian was staring at the floor. He had more confidence than most guys, but Lillian couldn’t be charmed. He’d met his match.

  “Ready to go?” I asked, trying not to let my amusement show.

  Ian jumped up. “Yes.”

  I gave him directions to my house and then sat in the passenger seat like a wilted flower. The day’s events had taken their toll. All I wanted to do was to curl up in bed and sleep. He was sympathetic enough not to make me talk during the drive.

  When we got to the gates of my community, I handed him my electronic swipe card. He used it, and the imposing set of wrought-iron gates in front of us opened up. “Nice neighborhood,” he commented. “You’re not inside the boundaries for Fillmore High, are you?”

  “I waived in,” I said with a shrug.

  “Brandy and I did, too,” he commented.

  We drove straight two blocks and then I pointed to my house. “It’s that one.”

  He turned the car onto the circular driveway in front of our two-story Spanish-style home. I moved to open the door but stopped when my headache suddenly got a lot worse. My eyes began to water, and I groaned, putting my hands to my head.

  Ian rested a comforting hand on my knee. His voice sounded far away when he said, “Alison, I know you’ve had a hard day, but I need to make sure I understand things. Are you sure the book at the Shadow Box wasn’t meant for you?”

  I wanted to get away from him, but I couldn’t move or stop my response. “I’m positive it wasn’t for me,” I said in agony.

  “And the guy who left it? You’ve never met anyone like that?”

  The pain in my head kicked up another notch. I struggled to breathe normally. “Of course I have. There have to be a million guys like that around here, but none of them would give me a book.”

  “What about the tattoo?” he pushed. “Have you ever met anyone with a vine tattoo like the one Lillian told us about?”

  “No,” I panted. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “I guess I need to be sure we did the right thing keeping the police out of this.”

  I took a deep breath as the pain eased off a little. “We did,” I said.

  He nodded and then raised his hand from my knee to run a gentle finger along the side of my face. “The nurse was right,” he said. “You’re bruised like a ripe banana.”

  I pushed his hand away. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, getting out.

  I heard him honk once as he left the driveway, but I didn’t turn around to wave good-bye.

  The smell of lasagna greeted me when I walked through the front door. It was Monday, Mom’s night to cook, and universally dreaded in the McKye household. She’d recently gone vegetarian and was trying to convert the rest of us. Which meant we ate whatever she cooked, or we went hungry. Regardless of how good the lasagna smelled, it was guaranteed to taste awful.

  Everyone was at the table. My brother was chewing his food with revulsion on his face while Mom spooned runny casserole onto a plate for me. My dad was doing a better job hiding his disgust, but I could tell he was holding his breath until he swallowed. When I sat down next to him, he noticed the bandage on the side of my face.

  “What happened there?” he asked, pointing to it.

  His tone alarmed Mom and she got up to check me out. “I just got a little banged up,” I said.

  “You better look at it, Bob,” Mom said.

  He leaned in, peeled the bandage away, and gave the wound a professional once-over. “It’s nothing serious,” he said. “The bruising should be gone in a couple of days. If it had been anything to really worry about, there would have been signs of it by now.”

  My mother was still concerned. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Maybe we should take her to the ER to get checked.”

  “After thirty years of practicing medicine, I assure you, she’s fine,” he replied. Then with the look of a condemned man, he added, “Anyway, I’ve got to finish this food before it starts to congeal.”

  Mom scowled at him and then asked how I’d gotten hurt. I told her how I’d hit my head on a desk during first period. I left out the bookstore fiasco. She would have had a major freak over that.

  Alex was sneaky. While her attention was on me, he fed the rest of his lasagna to our dog. I wondered if poor old Tsar would survive the digestion process.

  I finished my story, and Alex wiped his mouth with a napkin then rubbed his stomach theatrically. “That was great, Mom,” he said.

  Before she could offer him more, he hustled out of the kitchen. I admired his acting skills and his speed.

  For the next ten minutes or so, I made small talk with my parents and gagged down runny lasagna. Mom wanted to know about my first day of school. I answered her questions, embellished when necessary and did my very best to leave her with the impression my life was great.

  It was my night to load the dishwasher and wipe down the table, so I was left alone in the kitchen when everyone finished eating. I did my chores and then hunted in the cupboards for some kind of medicine to help my headache. It took a while, but I found a box in the cabinet above the refrigerator. Most everything in it was homeopathic. I wasn’t sure what to choose, but remembering Brandy’s suggestion that I take some ibuprofen, I opened a bottle of Advil and chased a double dose down with some water.

  I took the stairs to my room two at a time and heaved a sigh of relief as I opened the door. The space was a weird sanctuary. Mom had done the decor in Pepto-Bismol pink and floral patterns. Nauseating on bright days, the space was nevertheless mine, and that was what mattered most. In a tired haze, I showered and dressed in a pair of jogging shorts and a worn shirt. Then I set the alarm on my phone and collapsed onto my big four-poster.

  Turning my lamp off, I looked up at the ceiling. It appeared to be rotating in a circle. Regardless of whether the results proved successful or not, the ceiling always seemed to spin at the end of days when I did a lot of thought transference. The process required a kind of energy that wasn’t physical but not entirely mental, either. I didn’t understand how it worked, but I’d come to expect the spinning-ceiling thing as a side effect.

  What happened at the Shadow Box had shaken me more than I wanted Lillian or Ian to know. But in truth, there were probably hundreds of dark-haired girls working in bookstores around Las Vegas. Only Lillian wouldn’t ask questions, figuring I was the only one. The package had been left at the wrong store for the wrong girl, and fedora man had come to get what was his. That was the logical conclusion to make.

  Closing my eyes, I replayed in my mind what had happened at the store. I pushed the pause button when the old book spilled out of the box and hit the floor. The embossing on the cover resembled a circle of leaves with flowers running through it. Much like the tattoo Lillian said she’d seen on the arm of the man who left it.

  Before the heavy hand of sleep dragged me under, I wondered what about the book connected tattoo man to fedora man. Whatever it was, I hoped I wouldn’t get caught between them again.

  Chapt
er Five

  I got out of bed the next morning feeling a whole lot better than when I’d gone to sleep. The ache in my head and in my ribs was gone. I hoped the problem with my thought transference was fixed, too.

  Mom sipped a cup of tea while I ate a bowl of organic whole grain cereal, aka cardboard. “Why do you always wear such drab colors?” she asked with her nose wrinkled like they smelled bad as well.

  “I like this outfit,” I said, glancing down at my white shirt and jeans.

  Mom shook her head in disbelief. She wasn’t a vain person, but she put effort into maintaining her health and appearance. With her light brown hair in a high ponytail, she was wearing a pink tank top and a pair of dark yoga pants. She looked like she was in her midthirties, not fifty-two. I knew it frustrated her that I didn’t make the most of my assets the way she did. I couldn’t very well tell her I picked my super-bland clothes to protect her, so I usually ignored her comments about them.

  “Maybe I’ll get you a pretty dress at the mall today,” she said with a wink at me.

  “Nice offer, Mom, but I don’t do any pretty-dress activities. It would just sit in my closet and collect dust.”

  “You should do pretty-dress activities,” she insisted. “You’re a beautiful seventeen-year-old girl. You could be out with friends enjoying life. Instead you spend every Friday night playing video games with your brother. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you love your brother, but you should have more of a social life.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mom. I really do, but I’m happy with how things are. The day will come when I need a nice dress, and I promise you’ll be the first person I tell, okay?”

  “I’d better be,” she muttered before sipping her tea again.

  I took my bowl to the sink and then scooped my backpack off the floor. “Gotta go,” I said, heading for the garage.

  My old car, with its squeaky doors and rust spots, waited for me in the garage. Our housing development had labeled it an eyesore and ordered us to park it in the garage or risk a fine. Mom hated the car more than she hated my old jeans, and I’d caught her staring at it a few times like it might give her posh car some horrible disease. To me the dents were character. My car had tinted windows and a good stereo, and it blended in a lot better at Fillmore than my mom’s Porsche.