Shadows Falling: The Lost #2

by Melyssa Williams

  Exhausting, too. Which was a nice feeling actually, because I was getting better at sleeping. I could now lie down, and it wouldn’t take me hours and hours to fall asleep. Especially if I knew I’d be traveling, I could practically will myself to lose consciousness. I stayed for about a month that time, resting up. Luke came by every day and I knew he wasn’t far away at night. I hadn’t been pulled into one of his travelings yet, which I found curious. I think I was using up our lifetime supply.

  When I felt well enough, we traveled far and wide. We went as far into the future as Luke had ever been: twenty-first century America. He said the technology at the time was advanced enough to locate the whereabouts of my family.

  It was an odd place, this futuristic America. We went to New York City. People looked the same, and yet, very different. It was a strange mixture of fashions and noises and smells. No one person dressed the same as the next, which was unexpected, but made me fit in nicely. I wore my favorite red calico dress that Luke bought me, and I didn’t even feel out of place. Everyone was strange and different and odd and bizarre, and I kind of loved it actually.

  I couldn’t learn the difficulties of the technologies that Luke said would do our research for us. They confused me and irritated me so that he told me to find something else to amuse myself and he would work alone. So, while he spent hours holed up in the libraries, I would wander the city.

  Once I followed a group of girls my age into their school.

  What a funny place! I had never been in one before, not ever. Of course, I had read plenty about schools, and most of my favorite novels had made mention of them. I had not read a whole novel since Solomon.

  No one paid any attention to me, even when I sat down in a classroom. The teacher, an ugly woman, asked my name and sighed and said, why didn’t anyone ever tell her anything about new students? and then she told me to sit down and everyone else to be quiet. The girl closest to me kept chewing something loudly, and I wondered why she didn’t just swallow whatever it was and get it over with. I wanted to smack it out of her mouth, but I also wanted to stay longer, so I behaved myself.

  I soon found out this was a history class, and they were studying the Civil War in the Americas. None of the students looked interested, and most of them were doing things with small boxes that lit up, and some were talking. The teacher droned on about slavery and Abraham Lincoln.

  Eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I told her she was not only wrong concerning everything she just said, but also that she was a donkey’s ass. The students howled with laughter. To my surprise, she didn’t seem offended or shocked by what I said, but she did tell me my smart mouth would cost me my grade. I shrugged and left, amidst laughter. One boy lifted his hand up to me as I passed him. I didn’t know what he wanted (me to hand him something? I didn’t have anything), so I walked on by.

  “Hold up!” he said, following me into the hallway. “Nice work in there, baby.”

  “I’m not a baby,” I spoke slowly, as he seemed like an idiot. Handsome, but an idiot.

  “What’s your name then, sweet thing?” Yes, his face was handsome enough, but he must have been a simpleton because his trousers were nearly on the ground like some sort of village idiot.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I don’t? Ah. I get you. Mysterious and beautiful. You’re like a vintage puzzle, sweet thing. Walk with me?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t have anything else to do. If I got bored, I’d find new amusements.

  “You know, this place has a million rules no one ever follows, but you should probably put on shoes, just because I wouldn’t want to see those pretty feet step in something nasty.”

  I looked down at my bare feet. I didn’t like shoes.

  “I’ll be fine,” I muttered. “What do you do around here?”

  “You mean for fun? Ah, baby, I got you covered there. Why don’t you hang with me?”

  “Hang?”

  “Today and forevermore, sweet thing.”

  Lord, what an idiot. I sighed.

  “Come on, baby, let me show you what you’d be getting.” He reached out, fast as a snake, and pushed me up against the wall, one hand on my waist, the other reaching under my skirt. Calmly, I looked into his handsome eyes and entwined my fingers through his. I yanked back on his wrists, and he crumpled like a paper doll.

  I don’t condone violence usually, but I couldn’t help a silent cheer in my gut for Rose.

  Bored with the school and everyone in it, I wandered off, and I stayed close to Luke for the rest of the night. He was tired—staring at what he patiently explained for the fifth time was a computer—but he was determined to find enough of a trace of my father or sister before we slept and found ourselves back at the hospital. I sat on the table next to him, twirling my hair and yawning.

  “Here’s something!” he finally exclaimed. “Look!”

  I peered at the brightly lit screen. There it was indeed. My father’s name, Noah Alexander Gray. Thank you, Old Babba, for muttering under your breath how much you hated my parents and for burning their full names into my head. It was an arrest notice for public drunkenness, along with a very helpful address and year.

  I slept happy. It wouldn’t be long now before our reunion.

  They were going to be so surprised when I showed up!

  We went back to Bedlam for a time. I had to think. Had to arrange my priorities, you see. Couldn’t just show up without a plan, could I?

  Of course not, I think. That’d be crazy. I shake my head silently, and check the clock. Do I have time for a few more pages?

  Luke didn’t seem overly interested in my plans for my family. I think he was in a hurry to get it over with; he had a yearning to visit our island again. The stays in the hospital were more bearable when we had a little vacation to look forward to. But I was getting more and more concerned about using up all my traveling abilities and getting stuck somewhere, without having done what I wanted with my father and sister. So, I rested up for a just a bit and told him we’d spend some lovely time together, just us, soon enough.

  “I just have to do this, darling,” I said, one day when he visited me. He looked so handsome. I loved him so.

  “All right, love,” he agreed. “I’ll be here tonight if you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “You’re sure? What if they don’t want you?” he looked worried. “Do you plan on keeping them?”

  “What, like a batch of puppies?” I laughed. I liked laughing with Luke, even though I did it so infrequently it sounded rusty, like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Yes,” he grinned. “Like puppies. I don’t want puppies. I hate puppies. I just want you.”

  “I won’t keep them,” I promised. “It will always just be us. But I have a role for you to play.”

  I shared my plan with him. He agreed to everything.

  Of course he did.

  I couldn’t get a handle on this Luke Dawes. What a shyster. That much was true. But he was an interesting mix of villain and meek accomplice. Who was the real Luke? I wonder. And did Rose really know herself?

  The gods seemed to be kind to me this trip. I think they must have approved of my plans because I managed to stay in one place and time for a longer period than normal. We found my father and sister, Sonnet, right where we knew they would be. I sent Luke to them first.

  He did such a good job.

  He posed as a photographer. We even found an empty, tiny room for him. I went in through a busted window in the back and we set up shop, with old cameras from a pawn shop that we bought with stolen money. We made it look lived in, hung a sign and everything. Sonnet was stupid to believe us, but believe us she did. Or Luke rather. I hadn’t made an appearance quite yet.

  We stayed in an abandoned house, outside of town, which was perfect in so many ways. It was falling apart, on the outside and the inside, and there was a notice on the door that I didn’t read. There was canned food in the kitchen that we t
ook a pickax to in order to open, and once I even started to read a book I found. It was dull and badly written, and I left it open after a few pages. I hadn’t read since Solomon, and I was relived I still knew how, though the desire for books was gone. I explored all the nooks and crannies, like a little child, when Luke was gone. I pretended to be a little girl, and sometimes I let my big sister come along. I’d talk to her in a child’s voice, and we’d play hide and seek like sisters do. I’d always win. She wasn’t as smart as me. And she always played by the rules, my imaginary Sonnet. Silly girl. If you want to win, you have to break the rules.

  I decided to concentrate my energies on the real Sonnet.

  She was a strange girl: taller than I, and darker, too, but with the same ice blue eyes. A kind of clumsy beauty, a careless sort of pretty, with a throaty voice and legs that tripped over one another. Somehow I think I would have known her anywhere, though we were so young when we were separated. I felt no affection for the creature; after all, she stole away my half of our parent’s love and attention. She had them all to herself, and I had no one. Who were my mother and father figures? A crazy old bat with The Sight and a man who deceived me.

  It’s amazing I grew up sane.

  Sonnet deserved everything bad I could throw her way. So, being a generous soul, I threw her a lot.

  I confused her, which I found fitting. Hadn’t I spent most my life confused? Seemed fair. I walked by when she could barely glimpse me. I was good at that, being the library ghost. Once, I sat in the back of a crowded shop when she played her guitar. Like a fool, she tripped when she saw me. I couldn’t have planned it better. I left before she could stand again. Like the mist, I was gone. I was surprised she couldn’t hear me laugh! For days after, I couldn’t stop my bubbling laughter every time I thought of her startled, hopeful face. I laughed all the way down the alleyway, my hand over my mouth. I stifled my laughter when I doubled back and saw Luke comfort her, take her tissues to wipe her tears. He was so very good at the part he played. If I had been the jealous type, I would have been fretful at the attentions he paid her. No matter. I didn’t believe his flirting, but she certainly did, and that was what mattered. Once I did become a trifle concerned, asked him if he was falling for her—Sonnet, I mean. He smoothed my hair back and kissed my mouth and didn’t even have to speak. I was winning again, you see.

  The next time I saw Sonnet, I couldn’t really see her. It was dark. Dark in her room, where I hid. I watched her from her closet as she readied for bed. I had known for a few days where she lived, even had studied the people who lived with her. They were a strange bunch, and I wasn’t too much interested in them. There were a couple of old men who didn’t leave the house much, a fat old lady who smelled like gravy, a completely dull married couple, and a tall, black man I found a bit frightening. Well, frightening isn’t the word exactly… I just wanted to avoid him, and he was tricky to avoid because he came and went entirely too much and at odd times. He drove a huge blue car, and once I saw Sonnet take it and drive away at a snail’s pace. She could have walked backwards faster than she drove that car. Anyway, I wasn’t interested in any of these. Only Sonnet and our father mattered, and it was becoming less about our father somehow, and all about Sonnet.

  She was distracted in her thoughts that night in her room; that much was certain. It took her a bit to fall asleep. I hummed a while out of boredom, in the closet, but she didn’t stir. I crept out and sat on her bed next to her. The last time we would have done this, we would have been small children, with different colored hair and the same eyes. Now look at us, I thought. Nearly grown. I reached for her hand and with the other, I stroked her cheek, gently. My gentleness was partly ruse, partly curiosity. I felt for no love for this girl. I simply wanted her to sleep deeply and, maybe in her sleep, remember. I remembered, so why shouldn’t she?

  She murmured something in her sleep. I knew she was dreaming. What did she dream of? Loving parents? Friends? Talents? Never being alone? Handsome photographers? Didn’t she think of me at all?

  Angry, I pulled my hand from hers, and as I did so, I scratched her wrist rather brutally. I hadn’t planned that, but my emotions had gotten the best of me. Sometimes that happens with me. I took advantage of her shock and frightened reaction and also the dark, and left like a ghost.

  Indeed, I was a ghost. I slipped through their horrid little house without anyone seeing me.

  No one ever sees me if I don’t want them to.

  15

  The next time I wanted her to, I was standing beneath her window. The rain came down that night in sheets, but I was patient. I knew she was restless, knew she’d be having a hard time sleeping, knew she’d look out her window that night, knew, because I would have done the same thing, and were not we sisters? The same blood coursed through our veins. I could predict her every move.

  She was so very easy to predict and play. Like the old deck of cards I used to practice my tricks, she fell so neatly into my hands just the way I knew she would.

  I stood there, ever so patiently, while my yellow hair hung down in a solid mass around my face. My red dress was plastered to me, and my feet were cold. Still I waited, and when she pulled aside her curtain, I was there.

  Like a painting, she stayed motionless for a time. But eventually, she whirled away from the window, and I knew I had to be quick. I ducked inside the truck Luke stole (my fear of automobiles had been lifted once I knew what they were). We waited in the dark while she drove off in her friend’s car. She was going right where I knew she would. Hadn’t I planned this, too? Had already subtly put the idea in her head when I told Luke to take her to our temporary home? She had felt me there and couldn’t shake me. I knew she’d go back, and go she did. I told Luke to take me there, but quietly, with no lights glaring on the front of the truck. He dropped me off in the darkness, and I told him to leave us. He didn’t want to, but of course, he indulged me. He always spoils me like that. Such a good boy. He probably spent the next little while playing with his new cameras. He did have a knack for them.

  I waited until she went upstairs and then snuck in the house quietly. For a moment, I flirted with the idea of pushing her down the stairs. Hadn’t I done that once? Pushed someone? Our mother, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t stairs, I don’t think. Sometimes I forget.

  But I didn’t push Sonnet. I whispered her name, and that seemed to frighten her sufficiently. I was so very close to her, and the fool couldn’t see me. I swung the door shut, with her trapped inside the little room. She was playing into my hands perfectly! I had already nailed the window shut, and there was no way out.

  I turned the key in the lock and locked her inside. She was silent for a moment as she realized what had happened, silent for a moment before she tried the knob. Then came the banging, the kicking, the crying out.

  I couldn’t help myself; I laughed a bit as I left and wondered if Luke had found any cake for me.

  Poor big sister, I think. What a mess she found herself in, if this crazy retelling was to be believed. Or perhaps none of this ever happened? Was it all in Rose’s head? Who could even know?

  I think Mr. Connelly might. I think it’s time he came clean about some things. Rose hasn’t mentioned him once, not even once, in her diary. If he’s known her like he’s claimed, shouldn’t she speak of him once or twice or a hundred times?

  I resolve to confront him as soon as possible. Either he doesn’t know the depth of Rose’s illness, or he knows but doesn’t care.

  I’m not sure which is worse.

  The only row Luke and I ever had was after that night. He was irritated with me for locking Sonnet in. I got angry. He got angry. He wanted to go home, he said.

  “Home? Home, where? Where is home?” I shouted at him. Normally, I don’t shout, not now that I’m older and grown up. Shouting isn’t ladylike. But sometimes, I forget myself, like I forget everything else.

  He was done playing this silly game, he said. I was acting like a child, he said. I couldn’t
believe he could be so harsh with me. Weren’t we having fun?

  He left.

  I felt cold and sick inside.

  I think I have always been cold and sick inside, but that was the first and only time I knew it.

  Oh pet, we all knew it all along, I think. I want to read further, but I pace myself. There are questions that need to be answered by a certain cigarette-smoking individual.

  ********************

  “What business do you want with him?” Mack had asked earlier, impertinently, I think. Or concerned? I couldn’t tell which.

  “None of your beeswax, doctor,” I drawled out the last word, even though I knew it was immature of me. He didn’t even have the decency to look affronted. The nonplussed nonchalance of youth strikes again. Anyway, I got nowhere in my queries of Mr. Connelly last night.

  It dawns on me this morning, as I braid my hair, that I don’t even know Mr. Connelly’s place of residence. He never spoke of himself. What had he told me? That he was rich and bored. I muse on that a bit while I unbraid my hair, in an attempt to look older. I study myself in my cracked mirror, as I sweep it up and pin it. I look like a little girl playing dress up. More red lipstick helps, but still. Will I always be so small and insignificant looking? I indulge myself and allow a few moments to picture myself sweeping down a staircase at Mina’s house in one of her dresses, my hair piled high and glittering with diamonds. All right, the diamonds are a bit much. No diamonds then. My hair would sparkle all on its own.

  Naturally, there would be a handsome prince waiting at the bottom, his heart beating only for me. I’d lose my shoe at midnight and...

  All right, silly girl, enough fantasies. The hair becomes braided again in order to ground me and my imagination, and at the last minute, I wind the plaits around my head and pin them. There. A sort of compromise.

  I look like a Swiss maid.

  Heavy sigh, and my mind drifts on to a different sort of fantasy: one where I am dressed in a smart uniform, capable of leading teams of nurses, skilled in the surgery, saving lives. I’d write a book perhaps, and smoke a pipe while writing it, in my own amazing library, one that went up to the ceilings, and had ladders! Yes, this was more my style. Perhaps my handsome prince would be in possession of a heart defect or something delicious like that. I could save him by inventing a cure. Why, I’d practically have to marry him after that kind of bonding. It’d be cruel not to.