I kneel beside her and run my fingers along her cheek. Why is my mom sleeping in the middle of the day? She never used to. She was always the first one up, running on her treadmill, working with the PTA, doing volunteer work at the children's hospital downtown. She would have considered a nap in the middle of the day a complete waste of her time.
I stay by her side and watch her breathe. It's not long before I hear the downstairs door open quietly, and then slowly click shut. I never realized I could hear so well, and I wonder who is sneaking into my house. Glancing down at my mother, I realize she hasn't stirred at all, but lies on her bed completely comatose.
I go to the top of the stairs and see my little brother Tyler. He throws his backpack next to the wall and slumps onto the couch, grabbing the remote and flipping on one of those stupid Japanese cartoons I hate. A tug of nostalgia fills me. What I wouldn't give to sit next to him and watch TV.
Normally, he gets a snack. He's never been overweight, but he was always a bit on the chunky side—perfect for playing little league football. Now his clothes hang from his shoulders, his pants baggy. He has barely hit puberty and can’t have burned off all his baby fat yet.
I sit on the couch next to him and place my hand over his. A rush of loneliness washes over me, and feelings of despair settle in my chest. Is this what he's feeling right now? Is this heavy weight of torment what little Tyler carries around all day?
“Go get something to eat,” I whisper.
He doesn't move.
I say the words again, more forcefully this time. He throws the remote down and gets up to rummage around in the kitchen cupboards, pulling out graham crackers and milk.
He comes back with a bowl of soggy crackers, plops his feet on the coffee table, and stares at the TV. With a sigh of resignation I stand, thinking I should go back upstairs to my mom, but something tells me it's time to find Brecken.
Dang.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
~Too Much Too Soon~
Alisa
I close my eyes and picture Brecken—his dark, wind-blown hair, his thick, black eyebrows, and his intensely blue eyes. In a blink, I appear in some sort of basement bedroom—dark, dank, and surrounded by cement walls. A lone bulb swings from the unfinished ceiling.
Brecken sits on the edge of an unmade bed, holding a pill bottle. I inch closer to read the label but his fingers close over it. He grits his teeth and opens the bottle. Maybe he's planning to overdose. Maybe my moment to help him is at hand. I'll be finished with my job and back to Idir Shaol in no time! I hurry forward, but instead of swallowing a handful of pills, he takes only one... without water.
Oh gag. Doing that would have burned a hole through my esophagus.
He pitches the bottle onto a small table that holds an old, wooden lamp, and then he lies down and faces the wall.
“Brecken,” I whisper, unsure of what to say. Since visiting my family, the desire to fight has disappeared, and I don't want him mad at me either.
He covers his head with a pillow.
“Brecken, if you can hear me, please talk to me.”
“Go away.”
I sit in a chair across the room and watch his still form. “I don't like this anymore than you do.” I wish he didn't know I was here. I could work so much better incognito, like I had with my little brother, or the girl named Jilly that Brecken kissed. Slowly, he turns and searches the dim room. “Why do they keep sending you people?”
“How should I know?” I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. Everything he says irks me. Even the way he holds his mouth when he speaks. I feel a desire to scream coming on. “What was that pill you took?” I ask finally. “Are you into drugs or something? Are they painkillers? I want to know what I'm dealing with.”
He exhales and turns toward me. “Zyprexa, if you must know. It's a prescription.”
I've heard of Zyprexa but can't remember what it treats. Just my luck to be assigned to some psychic wacko. “What's it for?”
“It's for schizophrenia,” he says, sitting up on his bed. “Everyone thinks I'm nuts. Okay? If someone claims they hear voices, they're usually given medication or are wrapped up in a long white shirt that buttons down the back.”
He has a point there. “Yeah,” I say slowly. “What else can you do? Any other amazing talents I should be aware of?” I have a feeling these weird things he can do are the special gifts Raphael was talking about when I wasn't listening.
With a whoosh, he falls back to his pillow. “None of your business. I wish you'd just leave.”
“I'd like to, but you see, if I don't finish my assignment here, I have to live in hell for the rest of forever, so a little help would be nice.”
A string of obscenities flies from him mouth and he sits up again. He searches for me in the corner.
“What did you just say to me?” I yell back at him. “I don't need to listen to that! Watch your mouth or I won't help you at all!” I want nothing more than to walk out, to leave this doper to his fate, but I know what mine will be if I do. My threat is empty and he probably knows it. He'll do whatever he can to get rid of me.
As soon as that thought enters my mind, I feel strangely relaxed. A calm descends around me like a wooly shroud and I chuckle, which brings a frown to Brecken's face. His ploys won't work. I understand his technique. I can see right through him. Maybe it's a guardian gift.
“Hey,” he says suddenly, leaning forward and squinting his eyes. “Just so you know, I can see you. What do you think of that, little guardian angel?”
I freeze.
The next second, I disappear back to my old bedroom.
***
Those four words, “I can see you,” rock me in a bad way. More than I would have thought possible. Being able to hear me is one thing, but see me too? It's not fair. I have a harder job than any of the other guardians, and I want to guard someone easy, boring, and not so complicated. I aim my complaints at Raphael, sure that he can hear me, but I get no response. I picture him up there laughing.
This isn't how it's supposed to be, I scream in my mind. A few-four letter words flit through my mind, as I look around my old room, knowing I can't come home every time things get hard. Am I even allowed to visit my family? It's one of those things Anaita surely went over in class, but for the life of me, I can’t remember.
With a tired sigh, I close my eyes. I have to stay with Brecken whether I want to or not, so I picture his face, fully expecting to reappear at his side.
Nothing happens.
I try again.
Nada. I take one of my imaginary deep breaths to slow my mind and close my eyes, trying again. Slowly I open them. I'm still in my room. The only explanation I can come up with is that I need to be here at the moment, which seems strange considering I'm supposed to stick to my charge like glue.
I push through my closed bedroom door and out into the hallway, then tiptoe through the quiet house. Downstairs in the living room, Tyler still watches TV, and on the table in front of him rests the empty graham cracker bowl.
A familiar rumbling echoes through the walls. The garage door. Someone's home. Glancing at the clock, I figure it must be Derek. He drives an old rusted, 1971 Ford Mustang that I love and hoped would be mine when he left for college.
That will never happen now.
The back door in the kitchen opens and closes with a loud bang.
Tyler doesn't even turn around. He doesn't say hi, or lift his hand in a wave. Derek doesn't greet our morose little brother either, but hurries down the long flight of stairs to his bedroom in the basement. I hear his door slam three seconds later. When did they all become so hostile?
Here is sweet, little Tyler, sitting alone for the last hour, lonely, forgotten, and hurting—I know because it's radiating off him in palpable waves—and Derek doesn't even stop to ask how he is.
Furious, I stomp down the carpeted stairs to the basement, wishing I could sound like thunder, intending to give Derek th
e yelling of a lifetime. He has no right to treat Ty that way. His shut door stops me for only a second before I barge through.
He lies on his bed, ear buds stuck in his ears, his iPod resting on his stomach. One arm covers his eyes.
“Derek.”
He doesn't move, not that I thought he would.
“Derek!”
Nothing.
“Derek!” This time I scream his name, my hands fisted, my whole soul shaking with fury, but it doesn't matter. He can't hear me. He can only hear the awful pounding of AC/DC from his tiny black mp3 player.
I can’t do anything here, so I float back upstairs, straight through the floor to save time. Ty still vegges on the couch, only now a single tear trails down his cheek.
I kiss the tear, my heart breaking. I don't know what to say or how to help. “Tyler, I love you. I'm so sorry this is happening. I know it's my fault.” My death is the cause of all this continuing sorrow. My heart aches, but I don't know what to do about it.
Shaking my head, I begin drawing on his arm with my finger. It's something we always did in the past. We'd stay up late watching movies, drawing on each other's arms or backs the whole time. It was our thing, our tradition.
I hear an intake of breath and he sits up straighter, rubs his arm hard, like it itches, then reclines back against the couch with his arm outstretched, smiling. Tears well in his eyes. A smile spreads across my face, and I snuggle into the cushions, once again trailing my fingers up his forearm. One lone tear drips down his cheek, but I feel a small ray of hope trying to shine though the loneliness he feels. It's one of the coolest moments of my life.
It's quickly interrupted by the most horrifying sound I've ever heard.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
~A Second Visit with Death~
Alisa
A terrifying screech echoes from upstairs, and the look of horror on Tyler's face says it all.
“Stay here!” I command before shooting through the ceiling to my mother's bedroom.
Her room, still dark, is shrouded in shadow. She kicks off the blankets and lies there panting, sweat beading on her forehead.
“Mom! What's wrong?” For a moment, I totally forget she can't hear me. When she doesn't respond I place my hand on her forehead, but I can't tell if she has a fever or not since I don't feel hot or cold the same way as before. A second passes before she slips her feet off the bed and sits up. Leaning forward on her arms, she rests, swaying from side to side, and then she stumbles to the bedroom door, tripping on a quilt that lies tangled at the foot of the bed. Curse words tumble from her mouth. Words I've never heard her use before. Her eyes are glazed and wild.
This is not my mother.
She was always so loving, so happy, so fun. But this madwoman is something else. She yanks open the door and ambles to the stairs, clinging to the rail as she takes one step at a time, her movements jerky and slow.
“Tyler!” she hollers. “Get your butt up here!” She continues her laborious descent, looking like she'll fall any minute. Not knowing what to do, I rush ahead to find my brother, hoping to protect him from whatever storm is coming.
He's alone in the living room, his face as white as winter frost, his hands twitching at his side. He doesn't even try to hide. I don't think he can move; he looks so scared.
Without a moment's hesitation, I fly from the living room and down the stairs to the basement in search of Derek. He's still on his bed, tapping his fingers to whatever music blares in his ears. I scream for him, shout, and even try to smack his face, but nothing works.
My whole soul cries out for him to hear me until I kneel on the floor at his side, sobbing invisible tears. At that moment he turns, a frown appearing on his already unhappy-looking face. Sitting up, he tears the plugs from his ears.
He leaps for the door, taking the stairs three at a time with his long, athletic legs. I rush behind him, relief soaring through me. Now that he's up and running I have no fear... until I reach the living room.
My mother has Tyler by the hair, screeching at him for not having finished loading the dishwasher. I turn in confusion, noticing the spotless kitchen. Derek hurdles over the couch and grabs Tyler away from our mother. Tears streak down Ty's face and a red hand print covers his cheek.
“What are you doing?” Derek screams. “Look what you've done!” He gestures to Ty's face, his own stricken with disbelief. “What kind of mother are you?”
Everyone stands silently staring at one another, and the only sound in the room is their heavy breathing.
Then, in a quiet, controlled tone, Derek says, “I'll tell you what kind. The terrible kind. And I hate you. We're leaving.” Derek storms back to his room, towing Tyler behind him.
My mother sinks to the couch in defeat, and covers her face, but she doesn't cry. Instead, she pulls her legs up beneath her and lies down on a throw pillow, staring straight ahead.
After a few moments, Derek returns to the living room with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, an empty one in his other hand. He and Tyler mount the stairs, not even looking our mom's way. After ten minutes they return, the second duffel bag full. Without a backward glance, they leave the house, the front door slamming behind them.
I can't believe what I've just witnessed. Nothing like this has ever happened in our home before. Yeah, Derek and mom would argue sometimes, but leaving the house? Running away? Mom slapping Tyler? I don't get it.
After a moment my mom stumbles up the stairs, her feet tangling in her nightgown. She trips and slides down the stairs. After regaining her balance, she hobbles up to her room and goes straight to her bathroom. She opens the vanity and pulls out a tan pill bottle. She shakes a couple of pills into her palm, staring at the white circles. She pours out a few more, then a few more.
“What are you doing?” I say, coming around to stand before her.
She doesn't answer.
“Mom. What are you doing?”
Without water, she pops more than fifteen pills into her mouth. I can only stare, stunned. She goes back to bed and falls on top of the blankets. After ten minutes or so, her eyes glaze over—even more than before—and her breathing slows, her chest barely rising with each inhalation.
“Mom!” I shout. “You can't do this! Derek and Tyler need you!” It doesn't matter what I say, though, because she can't hear me. I fall to my knees and plead to the God I still have yet to meet, to help my mother.
Around me, a light grows from a pinpoint, moving closer. Gram floats beside me bathed in radiant brilliance. She smiles and takes my hand. “Hello, Darling.”
“Gram! Something's wrong with Mom! I think she's dying!”
“Yes, dear, she is,” she says with a frown.
Why doesn't Gram do something? This is her daughter! She just stands there, watching my mother with no reaction whatsoever.
“But... but she can't die yet!”
“It's a terrible thing to witness, isn't it?” she says, gazing into my eyes. “I felt the same way when I watched you die in your car. I was there, you know.”
I didn't know. It's all so jumbled in my mind now, but I don't want to see my mother after she realizes what a terrible thing she's done.
I can’t let this happen.
When the loud bang of a door slamming rings through the house, I jump up. Someone is home. Did Derek come back? I let myself sink through the floor to find my dad standing in the kitchen, flipping through the mail.
“Dad! Hurry! Mom needs you.”
He continues to read each envelope and even tears one open, pulling out a bill of some sort. A frown creases his brow and he exhales a loud breath.
“Damn it, Dad! Go upstairs!”
He looks up, confusion in his eyes.
“Yes! Go upstairs!”
He drops the mail, still staring at the ceiling, and hurries up the stairs. Suddenly he's racing to the top, barreling toward his bedroom. He finds Mom on the bed, totally unresponsive.
“Laynie, wake up!�
�� He pats her face, checks her breathing, and then puffs three breaths into her mouth. After a hurried 911 call, he rushes back to my mother and continues doing CPR.
CHAPTER TWENTY
~A New Plan~
Brecken
Brecken lies on his bed, staring at the dull, cracked ceiling in his basement bedroom. The sun will set in just a few hours. Lazy rays of light filter in through the tiny window above his dresser.
He lets his mind drift over his earlier conversation with the angel girl. She spoke to him. Actually spoke to him out loud. And she glowed, sitting there in the chair across from his bed. Long, dark brown hair down to her waist, and her eyes...
There was something about her eyes that intrigued him, and it wasn't just her pretty face. Her aura—the energy that swirled around her—was golden and faintly pink. He's never seen anything like it before, and he has seen plenty.
He'd had other visitors—guardians—and they always glowed white, like he imagined all angels glowing, but this girl...
What is it about her? Not that he is interested in finding out; surly this new guardian will be no different from the others.
The thing that really surprises him is the fact that she spoke to him. None of the others had or would. As soon as they learned he could not only hear them, but see them too, they freaked out and disappeared, only to be replaced by another. The last one had been over a year ago. He'd thought he was free of them. If they were going to send someone who would talk to him, why send such an annoying guardian angel?
He shakes his head and gets up. He'd get rid of her, just like the others. Show her what he's really like. That's all it usually takes. Once she gets to know him and learns about the life he leads, she'll be gone. It won't take much. It never does.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
~A Civil Chat~
Alisa
After a few hours of sitting at the hospital, I begin to feel that familiar itch that tells me I need to get back to Brecken. I ignore it, not willing to leave my mother yet. She needs me more, and I'll stay here as long as I can.
When the feeling becomes so intense I can no longer ignore it, I kiss my mom's sleeping face, so peaceful in her drug-induced coma. She'll be okay. Gram told me so, and I believe her, but I've had a small taste of what I did to my family. It's a bitter, jagged pill to swallow.
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