Bellamy Rising

by A. E. Snow

  “Hey. Are you okay? You look awful,” Will asked again. He sat down next to me in the backseat and left the door open. The dome light cast a dim glow over the dingy interior.

  “I’m fine. Shut the door,” I said.

  “You’re cold, take my coat.”

  “I don’t need your coat.”

  “Just take it.”

  “Fine.” I wrapped myself up in his coat and tried to take deep breaths. I sat ready to bolt, like a scared rabbit.

  He scooted over next to me and wrapped his arms around me. “What happened?”

  I breathed in the oddly comforting smell of Will’s cheap body spray until the shaking began to subside. I settled my face in between his neck and his shoulder. For a minute, I didn’t feel so alone.

  After a moment, I replied, “I don’t know. I started to feel really bad all of a sudden,” I lied. These visions? They’d happened before, but I’d only ever had one before that was so vivid and frightening. The scariest part? It had come true. I leaned back and put my head on the seat.

  “You’re so pale. Do you feel sick? Are you gonna puke?” he asked.

  “I’m okay now, I think. I have no idea what happened. Wait, did you follow me?” I asked.

  “Well, I saw you leaving alone so . . .” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Were you trying to get in my pants?”

  “Kind of.” He couldn’t tell if we were ready for joking yet or not.

  “Thanks, I guess.” I decided not to tell him about my . . . experience, or whatever it was.

  Iris crossed the street and jogged toward the car. She raised her eyebrows when she saw Will.

  She opened the driver door and plopped down in the front seat, facing backward. “You ready to go? Meredith is staying. She gave me her keys.”

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” I said.

  Will’s shoulders slumped with disappointment.

  Whatever. There was certainly someone at the party drunk enough to go home with him if that was all he wanted.

  “Here’s your coat.” I started to shrug his coat off.

  “Keep it,” he said. “I’ll get it Monday or whatever.” He slid out of the car and shut the door.

  I climbed over the seat and collapsed in the passenger seat.

  “You aren’t hanging with that dumbass tonight?” Iris asked, cranking the car.

  “No . . .”

  “Bellamy, what’s wrong? Are you gonna puke?” She made a face. The biggest reason she didn’t drink was that she hated puking.

  “Let’s go home and I’ll tell you there.”

  “Okay,” Iris said and turned on the radio.

  The thing about her was that she knew me inside and out, and had done so since we were kids. She knew how I got the scar on my ankle; she was the one who shoved me in the first place. She knew that I had really, really liked Will in junior high and probably still like him more than I would admit out loud. And Iris was the only person in the world that knew I was—according to dictionary.com—clairvoyant. The vision I’d just had was one of the more intense, but not one of the first. I laid my head back on the seat and watched her drive. She hummed along with the radio.

  Iris was beautiful and exotic. Her mother was black and her father was white. Her hair was big and long and curly and I would have paid someone a million dollars if I could have the same hair. She had a smattering of freckles over her nose.

  I knew things about her too that no one else knew. For instance, I knew that she was gay.

  The gravel crunched underneath the car as we pulled into my driveway. The moon cast an eerie glow on the empty house. A tingle went down my spine as soon as I stepped out of the car. Nothing appeared strange when I glanced around, feeling sure someone lurked in the shadows, watching.

  “Come on.” She held out her hand and I jogged around the car to reach her.

  “I’m really glad you are here.” I followed my best friend inside then shut and locked the door behind me.

  “Me, too.”

  I stood by the window peering out into the night. Moonlight reflected off the Subaru’s windshield. Movement in the trees beyond the driveway startled me; the hair on my arms and neck stood up. Hardly daring to breathe, I waited.

  “AAHH!” I yelped when the room exploded with light.

  “Are you okay?” Iris asked. “I just turned on the light, dude.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s go upstairs.”

  A draft blew through my attic bedroom. I knelt down and plugged in the space heater, the main source of warmth in my room. My hands were frozen and I held them up to the shimmering heat like it was a roaring fire.

  “Spill it, buddy,” she said, curling up on my bed.

  Leaving the semi-warmth of the heater, I shrugged off Will’s jacket and put my hair up in a messy bun before collapsing next to her. She lay facing me with her curls spread out over both her pillow and mine.

  “Well? “

  I jumped about twenty feet in the air when I heard the front door slam and my body turned to ice.

  “Bellamy?” Iris asked, frowning.

  A sigh shuddered out of me when I heard Andrew, my dumb brother, and his girlfriend Kayla tromping up the stairs. Her obnoxious giggle gave her away. A door slammed followed by more giggling, which was no doubt about to lead to noisy sex in his room. Good grief.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “It’s okay. I’ve heard it before. It’s interesting that Kayla wears a purity ring still, since all she does is have sex with your brother all day long.” Iris gave a toothy grin. “Should we blow the lid off of the Purity Club?”

  “That would be very satisfying. I don’t think she is fooling anyone at this point. Andrew is kind of notorious.”

  “Anyway, who cares about Andrew?” she said. “What’s going on? You seem jumpy, scared even.”

  “I had one of those . . . episodes.”

  Iris put her hand on my cheek. “You good?”

  “I think so,” I said, nodding. I loved Iris, but I wished more than anything to be talking to my dad. He had always known there was something different about me. Something that I’d kept squashed since he died.

  “Like the one . . . from before?” We always avoided saying the words “like the one from when Dad died.”

  Closing my eyes, I flashed back to the other terrifying vision I’d had. Three years ago, I stood in the kitchen washing dishes, when a vivid image of an eighteen-wheeler lying on its side flashed before my eyes. Blue and red lights reflected off the twisted metal. Smoke filled the air, and I heard yelling. It sounded as if I was standing right there. My mom ran to the kitchen when she heard glass breaking and my screaming. Mom had been comforting me on the couch when the police showed up to tell us that Dad was dead. Since that night, sometimes I catch Mom looking at me with questions, almost fear, in her eyes. We have never talked about it. Iris is the only person who knows.

  “Yes and no. It felt less as if I was actually there and more as if I was watching a movie from the point of view of . . . well I don’t know who.”

  “What did you see?” She always asked the right questions.

  I described the road, the dirt, and the grass slowly taking over the road, aiming to choke it out entirely, and the humorless moon shining a cold light down through the trees with headlights spotlighting the whole thing. “Then, I had this awful feeling and I woke up screaming with Will shaking me.”

  Iris was silent for a long time. “What do you think it was?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I’m just so tired.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you under the covers. You’re still shivering.” Iris eased the blanket out from under me and covered me up.

  “Thank you,” I whispered as she clim
bed in next to me.

  “Anytime and every time.” She squeezed my hand.

  Chapter 5

  Sunday was quiet. I checked the news and bit my nails but there was no breaking news out of Louisa. I went to bed relieved and certain that I would have heard something if there was anything to hear. News travels fast in a small town.

  “It was nothing. Nothing happened,” I murmured into my pillow already falling back into sleep. “I was wrong.”

  Later, I woke up screaming into my pillow having dreamed I was trapped somewhere waiting to die. Sweating and panicking, I sat up and glanced around my room. Tears ran down my cheeks and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so terrified.

  My phone slipped from my hands twice before I managed to hold on to it. I swept my fingers across the screen to wake it up. 4:00 a.m. Sleep was out of the question so I curled up in a ball and pulled the blankets tight around me. It was Monday, and I had school. I considered skipping, but if I skipped, I would be alone all day with the memory of that dream. I couldn’t handle it.

  Bad dreams didn’t usually have such an effect on me, but this was different. It hadn’t felt like a dream.

  ~ ~ ~

  Homeroom buzzed with gossip. Everyone had a story about what happened during winter break. Otherwise, nothing had changed except me. I stared at the white board counting the minutes until class ended. Standing by my locker, having a panic attack before school, bought me a tardy slip and a sudden terror of walking down the hall alone. I tried to shake it off and pay attention to the announcements.

  Homeroom consisted of roll call and watching the video announcements broadcasted live from the library, anchored by cheerleaders.

  “You look tired. Big weekend?” the jock named Cam, who sat in front of me, asked loudly over the announcements. Due to the alphabet, I was sitting in the middle of a pack of muscly idiots.

  “Yeah, it was crazy.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. Cam spent a lot of time harassing me. I’m not popular, but I am the bad girl with bright orange hair and ripped-up tights, the one who parties. I had something of a reputation, not entirely unfounded. Cam and his buddies would have been thrilled to find themselves behind closed doors with me. They should be so lucky.

  I turned my attention back to the announcements read by Hayley, a cheerleader, and Lea, a nerd. Hayley had gone out of her way to choose the world’s tightest sweater and world’s thinnest bra for her “newscast.” Her nipples were clearly visible even through the bad-quality video that looked like it was filmed with a camcorder back in 1997. The boys were freaking out over the Monday morning nipples. How is my rep worse than Hayley Nipples’ rep?

  The principal, Mr. J, appeared in the narrow window that is a feature of every classroom door ever, put there so that administration can spy on teachers and make sure they aren’t sleeping at their desks. He rapped on the door and then cracked it open.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Smith,” he said. “I need to see Bellamy.”

  The guys around me hooted and yelled. I smiled demurely.

  Parker, the football player who sat behind me, threw his pencil and hit me in the back. “Wow! The principal came to get you! Whatever you did must’ve been bad,” he said and laughed hysterically.

  “It was terrible,” I said.

  “Bring your stuff, Bellamy,” Mr. J said.

  The room erupted again.

  “Settle down, everyone.” Mrs. Smith, my homeroom and history teacher stood up to get the class’s attention. She eyed me as I got my stuff and dashed out of the room as quickly as possible. Mr. J waited in the hall, more pathetic than usual.

  We walked silently down the hall. He didn’t say a word, but just before we got to his office, he stopped.

  “Bellamy, I just want to warn you that the police are in my office.”

  I nearly fell over. “Wait, what? Why?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say. But I will tell you that it has nothing to do with you,” Mr. J said. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “What?” I croaked.

  “I’m sorry. The police just want to ask you a few questions. It’s all routine stuff. Of course you don’t know anything, but maybe you saw or heard something that could help them.”

  I was totally confused. Mr. J walked the rest of the way to his office and I followed. By the time I made it to the door, he had opened it for me.

  “It’s okay, Bellamy,” he said. “I’ll be waiting out here for you.”

  My old friends, Officers Lewis and Jackson, waited for me. Somberly, Jackson gestured to one of the chairs across from Mr. J’s desk.

  “What’s going on?” My voice shook and my heart tried to beat its way out of my chest.

  “Good morning, Bellamy.” Officer Jackson had taken over Mr. J’s desk. Her voice sounded heavy with exhaustion and maybe even despair.

  “Uh, yeah.” I dropped my bag on the floor. Was it really a good morning?

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Officer Lewis sat on the corner of the heavy oak desk.

  My hands wouldn’t be still. I tried out several positions and finally put them in my lap, palms up. “Okay. What about?” An ache started in my gut and spread out all over my body.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Jenna Woodson.”

  Not what I expected. I swallowed hard. “What about her?” I focused on Officer Lewis’s head. He was bald on top, but had hair around the sides and back. Male patterned baldness is a weird thing.

  “Jenna has been missing since Saturday night. I understand you saw her on Saturday night?”

  “Yes?” I squeaked.

  “You work at The Beans, yes?” Jackson said with her pen poised over her tiny notepad.

  “Yeah, uh, yes,” I answered.

  “And you were working the front alone on Saturday night?”

  “Yes. My boss was in back,” I said.

  “We spoke with Ms. Mendez this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can you describe the interaction you had with Miss Woodson?”

  “I, uh, was getting ready to close and she came in.” I tried to remember every detail of my encounter with her.

  “And?” Officer Jackson prompted.

  “Right before seven—we close at seven—Jenna came in and ordered a gingerbread latte. I made it, she paid, and then she left.”

  “You remember what she ordered?”

  “Yeah. Because it annoys me when people order ornate drinks.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Was there anyone with her?”

  “No, but she got into a car after she left.”

  The officers glanced at each other when I mentioned the car.

  “Bellamy,” Officer Jackson said in a soft voice, the softest voice I’d ever heard her use. “You were the last person to see Jenna Woodson.”

  “Oh shit.” I started sweating and shaking simultaneously. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath. When my vision tunneled, I put my head between my legs.

  “Bellamy. Are you okay?”

  Unable to answer, I concentrated on my shoes instead of the sensation that I might fly into a million pieces or take off around the room like a balloon letting out its air. I had absolutely no idea how my vision at the party related to Jenna, but something deep inside of me knew that it did.

  “Bellamy.” Jackson came from behind the desk and crouched next to me. “I think you are having a panic attack.”

  I nodded. I was no stranger to panic attacks.

  “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. Lewis? Call her mom.”

  Lewis left the room while Officer Jackson stayed with me and rubbed my back. She crouched down next to me. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” she
said quietly. Oddly, her tone reassured me.

  When I felt a tiny bit better, I sat up. Jackson handed me a tissue and I used it to wipe off about a pound of mascara.

  The door creaked and Officer Lewis peeked his head inside. “Your mom is on the way.”

  “Okay.” I took a deep, shuddering breath.

  The school nurse pushed past him and rushed over. “I’m going to take your pulse.” She held my wrist firmly and placed two fingers on my pulse point.

  Mr. Holland, the guidance counselor, came in next and handed me a water bottle. I held the cold water to my forehead and closed my eyes.

  “Your pulse is quite high still. Would you like to lie down?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll just wait here for my mom.”

  Jackson said, “When she gets here, we need to take you to the station and get your statement.”

  “What? Why?” I asked.

  Lewis cleared his throat. “Protocol.”

  Fifteen minutes later, my pulse had calmed and I’d mostly stopped shaking. Mr. Holland had given me a paper bag to breathe into and I guzzled some water.

  Then my mother arrived and unleashed holy hell on the officers and Mr. J when she showed up in the principal’s office and found me surrounded by cops, the school nurse, and the guidance counselor.

  “What I really want to know, Mr. J,” Mom yelled, “is why on earth you would let the police question a minor without an adult or a lawyer present?”

  “Mrs. Foster. Let’s talk about this rationally.” Officer Jackson tried to reason with my mother, but she was beyond all reason.

  “Don’t Mrs. Foster me!” My mom stood a good foot shorter than Officer Jackson, but at that moment she was the largest person in the room. “My family has been through enough. I do NOT need to be getting phone calls that my daughter is having a panic attack because she is being questioned by the police. She has a history.” She spat out the word history. “Is this about the other night? Because I assumed that was done and over with when you let them go.”