Volume 1: Bailex, #1

by Erin Everleigh

  “You had a dream.” Riya’s voice was flat.

  Kieran nodded and lifted his eyes to Riya.

  “That’s all you have to say? You had a dream? You’ve been distant ever since your birthday—quieter than usual. And all you’ve got to say is that you had a dream?”

  “I’ve had a bunch of dreams,” Kieran smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Forget it. I’m done here.” Riya pushed passed Kieran and marched ahead on the sidewalk. “Sweet dreams, Kieran.” Her voice trailed behind her.

  Damn.

  Kieran jogged a few steps. “I had a dream last night about Terry filling Randall’s locker with bricks today,” he blurted out, following behind Riya.

  “Okay.” Riya slowed her pace but didn't turn around. “Terry always does awful stuff like that. And especially after the scene he pulled at school on Friday, I’m not surprised you had a dream about him spreading his hate. But that doesn’t explain your behaviour the past couple of weeks or why on earth you would decide to break into school today.”

  “It’s not just that.” Kieran’s words flowed easier, being shielded by Riya’s shadow. “I’ve had a lot of dreams like that lately.”

  “Dreams of Terry filling Randall’s locker with bricks?”

  Kieran took in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “No, dreams of things happening. And then the next day, they actually happen. Like word for word, and action for action.” Kieran’s heart pounded against his chest.

  “Maybe you’re just having some strong cases of déjà vu.” Riya veered off the sidewalk and down a narrow paved path toward the playground.

  “That’s what I thought the first time it happened.” Kieran followed. “I didn’t even remember having a dream the previous night. But then I started remembering the dreams. Being able to anticipate events seconds before they occurred. It’s not just feeling like something has happened before. It’s knowing it’s going to happen. Every detail. It’s freaking me out.”

  A soccer ball rolled across the path. Kieran stopped the ball with his foot, and then tossed the ball to the boys racing toward him.

  “Thanks,” the taller boy yelled.

  Kieran nodded and continued down the path, as he searched for Riya. He walked past the swings and spotted her walking toward a secluded bench on the other side of the giant green slide.

  Kieran’s heart was racing, and he hesitated at Riya’s pensive expression when she turned and sat on a bench. He wiped his palms on his jeans, and then let his feet take him across the grass.

  Here it comes.

  He sat next to her, waiting and watching as the corners of her lips curled up and her eyes brightened.

  “Maybe you’re psychic! That would be so cool.” Riya placed the paper bag on the bench between them and turned to face Kieran. She took his hands in hers and instructed him to close his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Kieran questioned.

  “Just humour me. Close your eyes. I saw this on television last year.”

  A smile tugged at Kieran’s lips as he closed his eyes.

  Way better reaction than expected.

  “Now think hard,” she instructed, lowering the tone of her voice. “Imagine us in Mr. Stanger’s math class. We are sitting at our desks, and he is handing out the problem-solving test that I am dreading.”

  Kieran opened his eyes. Riya’s eyes were closed, and her face was expressionless, but for the small crease between her eyebrows. His grip loosened on her hands, and her eyes shot open.

  “Come on, Kieran. Please. Cherry the psychic said that if she concentrates hard on a situation, if she imagines all the details, she can see what’s going to happen.”

  Kieran burst out laughing. Riya gripped Kieran’s hands and began to squeeze. “You owe me.”

  I do.

  Kieran let his eyelids fall, and he straightened his posture.

  Riya waited a few seconds, then closed her eyes as well and continued.

  “I’m sitting next to Melvin, who is attempting to beat his record of not showering for five days, and he absolutely reeks. I look to you, sitting one row across and three seats behind me, pretending I’m going to pass out.”

  Kieran chuckled. “That is classic.”

  Riya squeezed his hands harder. “SHHH. You’re not supposed to be talking. Concentrate please.”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m concentrating,” Kieran pushed his shoulders back and stuck his chest out.

  “Okay… Little miss brownnoser, Shelly, is sitting in the front row and batting her eyes at Mr. Stanger as he hands her the test. After Mr. Stanger walks past Terry, Terry sweeps out his hand, so that it crosses over Randall’s desk, and knocks all of Randall’s neatly organized pencils to the ground. Terry snickers, and kicks the pencils further away from Randall’s reaching hand. Mr. Stanger returns to the front of the classroom, rubs the tip of his nose with the knuckle of his right pointer finger, looks up to the clock that is mounted above the classroom door, and says, “You may begin.” We flip over our test pages and stare at the first question…” Riya paused then asked, “What does it say?”

  Silence. Kieran held his lips closed, physically restraining his amusement.

  “Kieran, what does the question say? Look hard,” Riya persisted.

  Kieran swallowed his laughter and played along.

  “Let me see.”

  Pause.

  “Wait…I think something is coming into focus.”

  “Take your time. Cherry said you need patience with these things.”

  Kieran couldn’t hold it in much longer. He swallowed again. “It says… Riya… you better study for this test.”

  Riya dropped his hands. Kieran peeked at her through one open eye. She scowled at him, and then shrugged her shoulders. “It was worth a try.”

  “Sorry, Ri. I’ll help you study though.”

  “Tell me about the other dreams.”

  Riya wasn’t being judgemental. She was truly curious. Kieran felt his whole body relax—his insides were no longer being strangled, his heart was no longer pounding against his ribs, and the only sweat he felt on his body was from the sun beating down on them.

  Maybe Riya could help.

  “The first two times, the dreams included people I know. One was with Ms. Harper in the library. She asked me to reorganize some shelves. She explained that a group of boys in the eighth grade thought it would be funny to switch the books about werewolves with books from the early reader section about fairies.”

  Kieran watched Riya for any change in her demeanour.

  “The next day at school, that exact scene transpired. I know it’s not unusual for me to help in the library—but how would I know that would be the exact scenario that would occur? It’s just so random. I tried to chalk it up to coincidence. But then the next night, I had a dream with you in it.” Riya’s eyes widened. “You were showing me the biology test you just got back.”

  “I totally rocked that one. My first “A” this year.”

  “In the dream, you were showing me the test, flipping through the pages all proud. And on the last page there was a note from Mr. Bikler, in green ink and all caps, that said ‘WAY TO GO, RIYA’.”

  “That’s exactly what happened.” She pulled her legs underneath her, leaning closer to Kieran. “I remember showing it to you, and that is exactly what he wrote. In green ink, not the red ink he always uses.”

  “See what I mean? It gets stranger, just wait.”

  Riya rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

  “Remember when we decided to take a new route to school a couple of days ago, to see if it was faster?” Riya nodded. “And then on the way, we saw that little girl in the yellow and white polka dot dress? She was crying on her front lawn, looking up at her kite tangled around the branches of a tree.”

  Riya nodded again.

  “Well, I dreamt that the night before. Down to the smallest details.
”

  Kieran paused.

  “Now can you see why I’ve been off? And those weren’t the only ones. I’m totally freaking out. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Why do you think something is wrong with you?” Riya’s voice wasn’t very convincing.

  “Because it’s not normal. Something is going on in my head and I don’t know what it is.”

  Riya’s teeth bit into her lower lip as she narrowed her eyes.

  Kieran swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe he was actually admitting this to himself, let alone saying it out loud. “What if this has something to do with my parents? What if I got THIS,” Kieran motioned with his hands toward his head, “from them?”

  Riya stayed silent.

  She agrees.

  “You know your story. You remember what it was like growing up with no father. You’ve told me stories about your mother, and how she reminded you daily that she wished you had never been born. But me, I can’t remember a thing.” Kieran couldn’t stop his words from flowing. And for the first time, he didn’t want to. “I don’t remember if my parents loved me or wanted nothing to do with me. I have no idea what either of them looked like. I have no memories of them at all. Nothing. Do you know how horrible that feels?”

  Riya reached for Kieran’s hand.

  “And now this happens? I’m going crazy. I’m going to be put in some hospital. And my life is going to be ruined. Right when everything was finally falling into place.

  Riya took Kieran's other hand, holding both in hers. “Slow down, Kieran. Slow down.” She let him catch his breath and held his gaze. “There is nothing wrong with you. And you aren't going anywhere.”

  “So you don’t think I’m going crazy?” Kieran searched Riya’s eyes for confirmation.

  “No, I don’t.” She stood and pulled at Kieran’s arms, lifting him off the bench. “Grab that bag of bagels, and let’s go home.”

  ***

  A few minutes later, Kieran spotted the light grey roof of their house at the end of the street, peeking out from behind the large oak tree. He slowed his pace until his feet were no longer moving.

  “Don’t worry, Kieran, we’ll figure this out together. Maybe it’ll be like with nightmares. Once you tell someone, they don’t come back again.”

  I desperately hope so.

  “Thanks, Ri. And let’s keep this between us, okay?”

  “My lips are sealed.” Riya pretended to lock up her lips and throw away an imaginary key. She hooked her arm through Kieran’s, and they continued on their way home.

  Three

  Life Before

  KIERAN DIDN’T DREAM THAT night. And he didn’t get much sleep either. He had become very proficient at putting the past where it belonged—behind him. But he was no longer able to ignore his deep-rooted desire for answers. Opening up to Riya had done that. It had exposed and nullified his many excuses for the unanswered life questions he had been forced to accept. Those three questions that had once plagued him were again invading his mind and hijacking all of his thoughts.

  Who are my parents?

  What was my life like before I entered the foster system?

  Why can’t I remember anything from that part of my life?

  Over the years he had come to accept the few facts he had been told. He had been young when he was left at the group home—only five years old.

  How much could a five-year-old recall? He had justified to himself.

  It was only a few years ago, when the other foster kids would talk about their “lives before,” that Kieran began to think that something was amiss. His friends, who had entered the foster system around the same age as him, still had snippets, if not full memories, of their lives before. Even small memories, sometimes of random events, were nonetheless glimpses into the past.

  Kieran always received the same answer when he asked about his life before. “I’m sorry, Kieran. We don’t know much. Just that your mother dropped you at the group home and never came back.”

  It didn’t make sense.

  How could there not be more?

  But who was he to question? He was a kid. And given some of the stories he had listened to from other kids in the foster system, he resolved that it might well be a blessing that he had no memory.

  Instead of dwelling on the unknown, he decided to focus his energy on the future. He had no real reason to look back.

  Until now.

  He could not ignore it any longer.

  What if I got THIS…from them?

  Once those words had left his mouth, it all became real.

  Kieran turned his alarm clock to see the time, hoping it was later than it was, and that he could get up and fill his mind with other things.

  6:00 a.m.

  “Argh…” He fell back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t take this anymore,” he mumbled to himself. Whipping his covers off of his body, he rolled out of bed. He shuffled to his desk, dragging his feet along the carpeted floor, still uncommitted to what he was about to do.

  Do I really want to know?

  He sunk into his desk chair and flipped open his laptop computer. He slid open his desk drawer, lifted some papers out of the way, and pulled out a small card, about nine centimetres by five centimetres. Kieran stared at the bold letters of his social worker’s name. It wasn’t an outrageous request. It shouldn’t even take her much time. He didn’t allow himself more time to contemplate.

  Hi Kelly.

  Things continue to be great with Mr. & Mrs. Pastern and Riya. Thank you for helping me get here.

  Butter her up a bit.

  Are you able to find the name of the group home my mother dropped me at?

  Kieran narrowed his eyes, staring at the blinking cursor.

  Maybe that’s too direct. It will prompt too many questions.

  His finger repetitively tapped the delete button, and he tried a different approach.

  I have a school project and I'm hoping you can help. We have to make a family tree. But given my situation, and that I know nothing about my family, my teacher said that instead, I could list the different people I have lived with over the years. I can't seem to remember the name of the group home that my mother dropped me at all those years ago. Would you be able to look it up for me?

  I hate lying.

  He pulled a pencil and a piece of paper out of the desk drawer. At the top of the page, he drew a large question mark. He carefully drew an arrow coming down from it and wrote, “Group Home #1,” accompanied by another question mark. Another downward arrow followed, then he traced out an A, then an L, then a Y.

  Aly.

  He blinked back the moisture in his eyes—it had been some time since Aly had entered his thoughts. He hurriedly added another arrow and more names. Under the final arrow he wrote Mr. and Mrs. P. He penned out Riya’s name at the bottom of the column that had been created to the right, with the names of the other kids with whom he had shared homes. He put the pencil down and surveyed the chronology of his life.

  More of a white lie now, he justified to himself.

  It surprised him that he had remembered the names of all the kids he had lived with—there had been many over the years. Some were names that he wished he had forgotten. Others made him wonder where they had ended up. Kieran shook his head of the memories and got back to the task at hand.

  The project is due this week. So if you could let me know soon, that would be great.

  Thanks.

  Kieran

  He reread the email once and pressed send before he lost his nerve. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled, letting his head fall backward and his arms dangle at his sides.

  “You’re up early on a Sunday,” Mrs. P’s voice filled the silence of his room.

  Kieran sprung upright and quickly flipped the screen of his laptop closed. He swivelled around in his chair. Mrs. P was standing at his doorway, cradling her steaming cup of co
ffee.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” he spit out.

  “Neither could I.” She smiled, then lowered her mouth to the edge of her cup and took a sip. “I just put some cinnamon rolls in the oven. They’ll be ready soon.”

  Kieran inhaled. “They already smell delicious.”

  “See you down there in 20 minutes.” Mrs. P winked, then continued down the hall to her room.

  ***

  “I can’t find it.” Riya rummaged through Kieran’s desk drawer, pushing things from one side to the other.

  Kieran leaned back against his headboard. “I could have sworn I put it back in there yesterday.” He was twirling a pencil between his fingers, staring intently at his textbook.

  “Well, I don’t see it. And a calculator isn’t exactly an easy thing to miss.” She pulled a pile of paper out of the drawer and placed it on the desk, and then tilted her head down so she could see to the back of the drawer. “Not here. I’ll go get mine.” She stood and went to put the pile of paper back in the drawer, but stopped. “What’s this?”

  Kieran raised his head. Riya was holding up the paper with his life’s chronology and giving him a pointed stare.

  “Exactly what it looks like,” he stated matter-of-factly. “My nomadic life.”

  Kieran tried not to sound bitter. But it wasn’t easy. Questions of who he was and why things were happening to him were at the forefront of his mind.

  Riya moved her eyes to the list Kieran had scribbled out early that morning. “Really, Kieran?” Riya pointed to the name above Mr. and Mrs. P—Ms. Galiter. “You shouldn’t even acknowledge that woman’s existence.”

  Kieran smiled. Riya’s brashness reminded him of the day he and Riya first met six months earlier. The day Kieran walked into Mr. and Mrs. P’s house, almost two months after she had done the same thing.

  “Why are you smiling? It’s not funny, Kieran.” Riya slammed the paper on top of the desk. “She was evil.”

  Kieran raised his hands in defence. “You won’t find me arguing with you on that.”

  Riya relented.

  “It’s just that you reminded me of the first day we met,” Kieran continued. “So what’s your story?” He raised his voice slightly, biting out the words, mimicking Riya’s voice from that day. Riya’s eyes widened–just as Kieran’s had all those months ago–and then her mouth spread into a smile. “You don’t beat around the bush, Ri.”