
Unfinished
Carol Oates
Copyright Carol Oates 2011
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Published by Carol Oates
Smashwords Edition
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Design by Carol Oates
For Eric
A boy who sees the world differently.
I jumped at the clank of a nearby locker door slamming shut. It should have barely registered in the crowded hallway of Charlton High. For once, I couldn't blame my mom for my anxious mood. Yoga started early for her on weekdays and she was gone before I emerged from my bedroom, a place I found myself spending more and more time recently. Something felt off today and I couldn't put my finger on the reason. To top it off, Lottie was acting weird... weirder.
The warning bell sounded and I pushed off from the wall. All around students hustled to class in a chorus of happy voices. I rubbed the stubborn crick in my neck that wouldn't ease. Maybe I should try yoga too.
"Good morning." I beamed my cheeriest smile at my twin.
I received no response for my efforts. Lottie simply continued to move books around her locker, gazing at them with an exaggerated concentration. I should have grown used to her ignoring me over the last several weeks. I was beginning to worry she'd never forgive me.
Lottie sighed and closed the door carefully. She spun the lock and pushed a long strand of limp blonde hair, which had come loose from her braid, behind her ear. When we were young, our hair was the only way to tell us apart. We had the same almond-shaped brown eyes, skin pale to the point of being luminescent, the same narrow chin and round behind. We even had the same tiny oval birthmark on our hip, except hers was on the right and mine, the left. As we got older, there were other differences. I was always a little slimmer, tanned and wore my hair short and choppy. I wanted to be different.
I hated my waist length hair, especially in the summer. It felt thick and heavy, and seemed to drag my head backward onto my shoulders. Sometimes I had imagined it as an extra piece of clothing I couldn't shed. So, one night when we were ten I begged Lottie to cut it for me. She argued and then relented like I knew she would. Mom grounded Lottie when she discovered us sitting on the bathroom floor in a puddle of blonde hair. I ate ice-cream while Lottie quietly accepted her punishment, and our mom lamented over my lost locks.
That was our way. I led and she followed.
Not anymore.
I walked with her as far as her English class, huffing every now and then because I didn't like being ignored. I enjoyed nothing more than being the center of attention, the glowing sun in the center of everyone's universe. It happened to be the very reason I currently found myself persona non grata.
If the hallway hadn't been mostly empty, I would never have noticed the shuffling that made both Lottie and me look up. The sound came from a boy walking toward us, the rubber soles of his sneakers scuffling and squeaking along the linoleum floor. I was pretty sure I knew every person at school, but his face was new. What I glanced of it at least. He watched his feet and held his books clutched tight to his chest. It struck me as odd. The guy was tall and lean with wide shoulders, strong muscled thighs and thick arms. He wore frayed jeans and a faded black T-shirt. Totally hot, in an 'I'm too cool to care' kind of way, but his whole demeanor gave off a different vibe. He seemed sad, like he cared too much about everything instead of nothing. The boy carefully maneuvered his way around the remaining people without ever lifting his eyes. None of us could fail to miss how his entire body flinched when anyone got too close.
"Who is that?" I cocked my head to the side trying to get a better look at his face as he walked past. Perhaps he has acne or something. He didn't. His dark hair skimmed the neck of his T-shirt and kept his eyes from view but I caught a glimpse of clear pale skin and rosy hued cheeks.
Lottie didn't respond---not that I expected her to---although she also paused to watch him walk by.
"Jonas Darby," Delia Montgomery informed us as she nudged past Lottie to get in the door. She shook her head gently so her mahogany hair swished and rippled across her back like liquid silk. As usual, her trio of assorted Barbie girls followed. I used to be Barbie number four.
"What's wrong with him?" Lottie asked with a curious expression on her face. She clutched her own books in a way that almost mimicked him.
"No idea," Delia responded. She stuck her head out the door holding on to the frame with one hand and carrying her trusty red leather journal in the other.
I almost gagged on the candy-floss perfume and artificial cloud of hairspray accompanying her.
"Nice ass though."
Those three words defined Delia's view of the world perfectly. Only the outside mattered.
"Come on squirt, I need your notes," she said to Lottie, throwing one slender sun-kissed arm over her shoulder.
I rolled my eyes thinking Delia would never learn. She was a princess, and high school was her kingdom. Delia's father was mayor of our perfect little town. Charlton sported three thousand residents, a ninety-five percent employment rate and one corrupt police force. Of course daddy's little angel was unaware the guys on the football team called her Drop Your Panties Delia because of her less than angelic reputation. With everything she had and everything that happened recently, I still pitied her. The things she got away with now would probably land her in serious trouble one day. Daddy's reach only extended so far and high school wouldn't last forever.
"See you later, Lottie," I said as she turned to walk into class with Delia. I felt reasonably secure in the knowledge they couldn't get up to much of Delia's usual trouble there.
I followed Jonas down the hallway, keeping a safe distance so as not to disturb him. As it happened, we were going the same way. It seemed the new kid shared my English class, fortuitous since he intrigued me.
We didn't get too many new kids around here. I edged past him at the door noticing how his body appeared stressed to the point of being utterly immobile---the guy had serious first day jitters. I made my way to my usual seat at the back of the class and watched him as he skirted desks and people, never once looking up. Does he have some kind of bat-type sensor thing going on? Eventually, he sat in a desk right beside the window on the opposite side of the room and retrieved a notebook from his bag. He then proceeded to shift the bag around the floor at his feet in a weird ritualistic way. It ended up square under the center of his desk.
Some of the other students kept an eye on the entire process, and although I couldn't hear exactly what they said, I could tell by the disdainful glances and hands placed over their mouths to cover their whispers that he would be the butt of many jokes during his time here.
Jonas turned toward the open window and inhaled, filling his lungs so deeply his back straightened. I caught a split-second glance of his handsome face and long curling eyelashes. They fluttered under those dark bangs. The buzz of the mower over at the football field and the fragrance of fresh cut grass crept inside. I empathized with his almost palpable and very apparent longing to be outside instead of sitting with us.
Mr. Dover walked into the class then. Rushed as usual, he simultaneously juggled his books to find the page with today's lesson, while closing the door with his foot and fixing his round rimmed glasses. The class fell into a quick hush, because although Mr. Dover appeared soft and cuddly with his bow-tie and the leather patches on the elbows of his sweater, looks were deceiving.
He took his place at the head of the class after locating the elusive pages in his notes. His watery blue eyes lifted and darted around the room until they settled on Jonas, who was still fixated on the world outside his window. "As you may well have noticed we have a new student. Jonas, stand please."
Accompanied by the sound of shifting seats, every set of eyes in the room turned. Jonas didn't move aside from rhythmically tapping his index finger against his notebook.
"Jonas Darby?" Mr. Dover called again after checking the semi-crumpled sheet in his hand.
Upon his name being announced the second time, Jonas turned to face front and slid his seat back. He removed his cap, not bothering to push the flattened hair from his forehead and pushed off from his desk to stand. The action made his muscled arms strain and flex. Jonas lifted his face to Mr. Dover briefly and just as quickly looked away. It had to have been clear to Mr. Dover and everyone else in the room how difficult it was for Jonas to complete this one small instruction. The artery running up the side of his neck pulsed where his hair had curled away leaving it visible and his chest became utterly rigid as if he wasn't breathing at all.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew Mr. Dover was explaining to the class how Jonas Darby came to be at Charlton High; however, I didn't hear a word he said. It wasn't because I still felt bad for Jonas or because I wanted to join in with the twitters of laughter in the room. Astonishment overwhelmed me for a moment, because when Jonas lifted his blue eyes to the room, he looked directly at me.
Several weeks ago this wouldn't have surprised me at all, that had been when Lottie's hair was still lustrous and shiny, when I had been the one providing Delia with her notes and when the Charlton police department wasn't overlooking little things like mysteriously severed break lines.
I jumped down quickly from my perch on top of the bookshelf, where I had been sitting over the last weeks after they removed my desk. I approached Jonas hesitantly, not wanting to scare him and worked my way around the desks between us. As I got closer I was disappointed to realize that, just like everyone else, Jonas couldn't see me. His concentration seemed fixed on a poster tacked to the wall behind the place I had been sitting a moment ago.
Words are the only thing that last forever
Evidently not, I thought to myself. I was doing a pretty good job at sticking around.
Jonas sat back down heavily and class commenced with everyone oblivious to my presence in the room.
Everything was different now. There was a time I could part crowds simply by walking to class. Everyone knew me, everyone loved me... not anymore. I had grown used to wanting to be part of things and not being. I attended school as usual, slept in the same bed---well, spent my nights in bed---talked to my sister. I even studied for tests I would never get to take. It's very strange how homework becomes such an important part of the day when it's one of the only things grounding a person in reality.
My routines kept me sane and reminded me I was still here. No white light greeted me when I crawled up the bank of Shepard River, no tunnel. I didn't move on to a better place. No. For my sins, I ended up in school. There is seriously no justice in the world.
o0o
I stayed in class until the shrill ringing broke into my wandering thoughts. Jonas never looked at me again. I honestly couldn't decide if I was relieved or not. Having someone see me would have felt like a validation of my belief I still existed, yet my instincts told me trusting a boy who saw dead people wasn't so much a validation as a little insane. I was a walking contradiction these days.
"What's next?" I asked Lottie as we walked along the hallway together. She studiously watched the ground. "Gee, get over it will you." I teased her after a few moments passed in silence. "Maybe if you had your own life you wouldn't be so mad at me."
I stopped talking when I spotted Will Keats, a senior and quarterback of the football team. He was the kind of guy who had it all, popular, good looking, smart, blond and nice.... He was the one. Not my one----the only one on the team who didn't succumb to Delia. I had been heading to meet Will that fateful evening. It was his suggestion to meet at the small park down by the river so we could discuss my next move. Now he looked at my sister with those same worried green eyes he used to look at me with on more than one occasion.
"Hey Charlotte," he said awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair. Will never seemed to know what to do with his hands.
"Hi Will," she replied, a telltale blush creeping up her cheeks.
Get a backbone, Lottie. I rolled my eyes. Lottie pulled her books closer to her chest. Her shoulders hunched and she barely managed to peek up at Will from under her eyelashes.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm okay, you know...." She trailed off with a sigh and her eyebrows pulled down into a frown making the skin above her nose pucker.
Will nodded in acknowledgement to some guys from his team passing and scratched the back of his neck. Red marks bloomed across his skin. He rubbed at it as if he realized he had scratched too hard. "Yeah, I know."
He paused and looked around speculatively until I unconsciously moved nearer to listen to whatever he was about to say.
"Do you have any idea why Cathy did it?" he whispered.
If it wasn't for the fact that he looked genuinely concerned, I would have been willing to take back what I previously thought about him being nice. In the moment when Lottie's blush deepened and her eyes narrowed and fixed on her feet, I wanted to hit Will. Not that it would have done any good since I could only move small inanimate objects and even that took effort. Will was neither small nor inanimate, so I settled for glowering up at him. How could he have fallen for the ridiculous story I had driven off the winding road intentionally? He, of all people, should have guessed the truth.
"No," Lottie said frostily. "I have to go, Will. I'm going to be late for class."
"Sure, sure." He stepped away and went back to messing with his hair again. "I was thinking... if you ever want to get together and talk...." The invitation hung in the air between them and a foreign jealously bubbled up inside me.
I tried to convince myself he was being kind to my sister, but it actually sounded like he was asking her out. It sounded like, with me out of the way, Will planned to move on to the next best thing---my twin. I stepped between them although it didn't make any difference. Lottie peered up at him straight through me.
She smiled sweetly. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."
I stood frozen in the hallway as they both moved away. Should I have been insulted that Will considered me so easily replaceable or because Lottie thought she could actually replace me? I wanted to cry, but I couldn't shed real tears. So what if I didn't consider Will my forever? He was still mine.
I hadn't managed to make myself move by the time every living creature deserted the hallway. For the first time I began to realize I didn't really understand why I was still hanging around. Everyone was moving on without me. No one missed me. Mom had gone back to her ladies club and yoga sessions. Delia had Lottie and now Will, my sometimes boyfriend, had transferred his affection to my sister. A few of my classes had a desk removed for fear other students would think of me and become emotional. Wouldn't want that, would we? It was as if I'd never existed. Lottie stepped neatly into my shoes. After all the years she'd spent in my shadow that must have brought her some form of satisfaction.
The squeaking hinges of the girls' bathroom alerted me to the fact I wasn't alone after all and I turned to see Delia emerge with her phone pressed to her ear.
"Good... of course I haven't." She seemed frustrated at the conversation and halted mid-step to swipe at her skirt. "I have as much to lose as you... just play your part and everything will be fine." A smile spread across her lips and she lifted her hand in front of her face to inspect her short manicured nails. "You know I'll take care of you."
Delia ended the call, adjusted her bag on her shoulder and sauntered off down the hallway, her snake-like hips swaying side to side.
It didn't require much brainpower to work out what the subject of the conversation might be. Someone in cahoots with Delia wasn't happy. However, it wasn't my problem anymore. The last time I tried to get involved all it got me was dead.
Rubber squeaking along the floor behind me caught my attention. I wasn't the only one listening in on Delia's conversation. Jonas stood near the exit door at the end of the hallway, just a short distance away. In his hand, he clutched a sheet of paper I presumed was his class schedule. He watched Delia intently as she moved away. Unlike earlier, he stood straight with an air of confidence that had been absent before. His vivid blue eyes reminded me of inkblots that appeared on paper after holding a fountain pen against it for too long, intensely dark and round against clear white.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Delia take a deep breath at the door, ready to enter class with a smile and some made up excuse as to why she was late. When I turned back, Jonas was gone.
o0o
By lunchtime I felt entirely sorry for myself. Until now, I had never regretted my actions the evening I died. If I had been able to keep my nose out of things that didn't concern me everything would different... for starters, I'd be alive. I had so much to look forward to but all that remained was an uncertain future.
The sun shone down on the football field where some of Will's teammates were training. I watched him move around the grass, cheered on by a gaggle of groupies that had congregated lower down on the bleachers to ogle. A twinge of guilt toward Will caught me off guard. I hated the idea of being replaced so easily, but maybe I deserved it. I didn't treat him as well as I could have. I strung him along because I wanted to look like I had it all. I thought I had it all. I was popular, although now I knew it was only by my association with Delia and what she gives to people. I was smart, or so I thought. I wasn't smart enough to see what was really going on around me. I had Will, but only because I wanted to walk down the hallway with a football star by my side.
Delia and the Barbies were holding court at one of the outdoor benches near the door to the cafeteria. I could just about see them clearly and the glint of light reflected by the pen in Delia's hand. Her red journal appeared nothing more than a red splotch on the tabletop, almost like a bloodstain. Maybe my imagination was playing tricks.
A few people approached her, regular kids looking for favors to make the high school experience easier or substances to make remembering not so awful. Now, I realized how brazen Delia was, or perhaps I was simply naïve. I hadn't known the extent of her business empire. Notes and homework were only the beginning. I wondered if Cheerleader Barbie or either of the Prom Committee Babies were as taken in as I had been.
While I stood, shaking my head at myself I noticed Jonas walking in my direction. His shoulders were stiff again and his head tilted forward. I quickly dismissed it as an act. Jonas wanted people to leave him alone for some reason. A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. How ironic. I wanted to be seen, and he didn't. He was holding what looked like a brown lunch bag. I deduced he was looking for somewhere quiet to eat.
Jonas disappeared under the bleachers. I wasn't finished trying to figure out this strange boy. Call it distraction, if I stalked him I didn't need to think about being stuck here. Ignoring the insipid giggles of the girls below me, I climbed down and found Jonas sitting crossed legged, leaning against one of the supporting poles. He was already reading a book and munching on a sandwich. The air in the shade was cooler and his body language had changed. He seemed more like the boy I had seen heading out the exit than the one in class. I edged around slowly and sat down across from him mirroring his position. Over the course of the next few minutes I discovered something I didn't expect. The way his jaw moved and the slight sheen of perspiration on the skin of his lower throat completely enthralled me. Everything about this boy stood out. As much as Will's smile caused trembles in my knees, in all the time I knew him, he never quite held my attention the way Jonas Darby already could.
"Please. Stop doing that." He ground out the words in a British accent, through teeth clenched so tightly his mouth barely moved. For a moment, I questioned if I'd actually heard him. He took a large bite of the half-eaten, wilted sandwich in his hand.
I wondered if I'd lost my mind. Was I disappearing? Was this loosening grip on reality a sign I was moving on? I sighed deeply.
Then Jonas looked straight at me.
I staggered clumsily on my behind using my hands to drag myself backward. Even as I did, I had no idea why. It wasn't as if Jonas could hurt me---I had no body to hurt. However, I was pretty damn sure he could see me this time.
"What are you doing?" Jonas asked, tilting his head to the side in bewilderment.
It was abundantly clear I understood nothing about being dead. I had no body but I could still feel my heart pounding and smell grass and cheap perfume. I could still feel the rough, dry dirt catch under my fingernails. The one thing I'd been sure about all along was that no one knew I was here. Now, it appeared I was wrong about that too.
"You can see me?" There was a clear tremble in my voice.
"Of course I can see you. I'm talking to you aren't I?" He had a strong voice with an underlying confidence that didn't fit with the shy, withdrawn boy skulking along the hallway or across the lawn.
It occurred to me that the simplest answer had to be correct. The guy was new. He must have seen me around school somehow and maybe he thought I was a living student like all the others. I carefully pulled myself up onto my knees but stayed well back.
His eyes fixed on me with a cool scrutiny as if he was waiting for my next move.
Resting my hands on my thighs, I considered my next move. I didn't want to frighten him away. On the other hand, I couldn't just sit here and do nothing.
"What exactly do you see?" I asked curiously.
His eyes moved slowly up and down my body. For a moment I felt as if I'd been placed under a microscope. I had the urge to cover myself with my arms, but resisted and waited for his verdict.
"A girl. Average height, doesn't eat enough, brown eyes, short hair, jeans and too much make-up."
"I do not wear too much make-up," I retorted sharper than I meant to. In fact, since I didn't possess a physical body, I wasn't wearing any make-up at all.
"You asked." His eyebrows lifted clearly teasing me. Jonas glanced down to his book before folding one corner and slipping it back into his bag. "I should probably mention the part about you being dead."
I gasped. "You're not scared?"
"You are nothing new." He shrugged, piquing my interest further. I inched nearer.
"There are more like me?"
"Sure," he laughed. Apparently that amused him.
"And you can see them?"
"Occasionally." Jonas pressed his lips together as though he wanted to say more. After a second or two he released a harsh breath that came out more of a snort and stuffed the half-eaten sandwich into the brown paper bag.
He stood to go and I leapt to my feet.
"Wait. You can't just leave me here. You have to help me." I put myself in his way and blocked him. When he moved, I moved too. Luckily, Jonas seemed unwilling to walk through me. That had happened only once, with a neighbor while he tended his garden soon after I died. It wasn't a pleasant experience for either of us. It drained me and he vomited into his petunias. I was in no rush to repeat the experience. I presumed Jonas avoided touching me because, somehow, he knew the effect too.
"No. I don't do that." The words came out hard with a new malice to his voice.
"You have to," I pleaded, continuing to get in his way.
He froze, still in the shadow of the bleachers and away from prying eyes. He bent his knees and looked me straight it the eye. It was unnerving after having no one look at me for almost two months. Not to mention, up close, Jonas was more than handsome. There was something about him, almost as if heat pulsed from his anger, consuming all the oxygen around him. I had to fight to keep myself from staggering backward. His body dwarfed me, despite his bent knees, and he radiated power. It was a beautiful and terrifying sight all at the same time, such a bizarre combination that it sent shivers tingling down my spine.
"I do not have to do anything. I didn't ask for this. I don't want it. Stop. Following. Me."
"Why bother talking to me if you won't help me?"
His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed minutely; it seemed I touched on a nerve.
"I shouldn't have. It was a mistake," he said coldly. "Leave me alone."
I stepped aside without hesitation. It was abundantly clear that Jonas Darby was not all he appeared to be. With one final scowl he lowered his head. His hair flopped forward and he slouched his shoulders, becoming that other boy, the one avoiding physical contact and appearing for the entire world to be isolated and distracted. In reality, he saw much more than they did. I stared after him as he walked back toward the main building avoiding every person who came near him.
"What else are you hiding?" I wondered aloud.
I spent most of the afternoon shadowing Lottie. I didn't bother to talk to her. It seemed pointless. The one person I wanted to feel my presence couldn't and the only person who could, hated me for being dead. Delia's constant, annoying presence was beginning to bug me. Until today I felt I was still here for Lottie, even though she didn't know it. Since meeting Jonas I realized I wasn't. I couldn't help her if she needed me. What if Lottie figured out Delia's secrets, just as I did? Jonas made me see I was powerless. Maybe that was my punishment. I let this happen and now I was stuck here to watch it all unfold. I couldn't sit back and watch history repeat itself. Jonas would have to help me.
o0o
I found him in the library after school, sitting on the floor in the mythology and lore section. No one bothered much with this corner of the stacks. It was dark and musty with no natural light. The strip lighting overhead let out a constant low humming and blinked every now and then. Jonas appeared to have his nose stuck in a book... and I meant that literally. Both his forearms stretched over the front of the leather cover and his long fingers hooked around the top hiding the title, but could see the pages were stained yellow with age.
"Hi." I decided to announce myself this time so he wouldn't feel I was prying. I needed him.
"Go away," he said stonily without looking up.
I slid down the shelves facing him with my legs stretched out parallel to his, earning a groan for my unwelcome company.
"So," I started brightly. "You're British?"
No answer.
"How did you come to be in Charlton?"
No answer.
"My name is Cathy."
His lips pursed and pulled up on one side a bit. I knew he was listening even if he didn't acknowledge it verbally.
"I was murdered." I spoke the words as straight as I could manage. It was the first time I'd said it aloud and a sharp sting of betrayal that I didn't expect accompanied it.
"I know," he replied in a voice I had to strain to hear.
"How?" I questioned with some trepidation. The only people that knew were the ones covering it up.
"Suicides are confused. They can be like young children in some ways. They reach the light much easier than those who are killed or died naturally because they don't believe they have anything to cling on to. They've already let go." He reeled it off as if it was something he had explained a million times but in a voice so low no-one standing nearby would overhear.
"I'm not clinging onto anything," I bit back, feeling judged for not moving on. Something else I've done wrong.
He closed the book with a snap and placed it front down on his knees. "Of course you are. There is always something, a lover, a child... revenge---"
He cocked an eyebrow taunting me.
"I don't want revenge," I cut him off indignantly.
"Of course you do. The question is only who do you want revenge on? Maybe that pretty sister of yours?"
I stood up briskly and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a little smug that I could raise my voice when he couldn't. "Don't pretend to know me. You know nothing about me. I came here to ask you to help me warn my sister."
He looked down and chuckled darkly earning a scolding hush from a female voice beyond the shelves.
"Protection," he droned bitterly. "You are the worst kind."
"What exactly does that mean?"
"It means you should leave me alone." He stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder and edged past me.
"I tried, Lottie," I sighed gloomily.
o0o
I sat on the edge of the bath later that evening watching Lottie at the sink after her shower. Her damp hair hung down her back and a peach colored towel wrapped around her snugly. Steam clouded the white tile and chrome bathroom leaving the mirror fogged. Lottie reached forward and placed her palm flat on the surface, then dragged her hand sideways revealing her reflection.
I didn't make a habit of invading her privacy. I believed it was sort of an unwritten rule between the two of us after the hair-cutting incident. I didn't intentionally get into her stuff and she didn't get into mine. We shared a womb, we shared a house and we went to the same school. At one time we had been inseparable. I remembered nights spent giggling under a make shift tent made of bed sheets and pegs. Holding hands when our parents fought, drawing strength from each other and whispering secrets in hushed code only a twin would understand. It all changed with a pair of scissors.
Now I thought about it, Lottie always seemed one-step behind me, a pesky fly I couldn't swat. I didn't stop to admit she looked out for me. She let me make my mistakes and took my punishments more than once, never saying a word. Delia was one mistake I didn't want her to pay for.
Lottie's collarbone protruded distinctly through her milky skin and her arms appeared fragile, as if the bones might crack under the slightest force. Come to think of it, I couldn't remember the last time I saw her eat.
"I wish you were here to help me with this," she uttered quietly to her own reflection---her mirror image.
She was talking to me. I smiled. In spite of the horrendous situation, at least she was talking to me.
"I am here," I told her, getting up to stand behind her shoulder. When I stared in the mirror, I only saw Lottie. "I am here," I said again, this time more for my own benefit.
Lottie pulled open the drawer on the vanity unit under the sink and withdrew a small pair of scissors. She held the scissors in her hand, rolling the double sharp point against the tip of her middle finger. It bit precariously into the soft flesh and she glanced up at her reflection from under wet eyelashes.
"I was never brave like you. I stayed in your shadow," she told her reflection---me. "I should have..." Her words trailed off leaving her thought floating in the air unfinished.
While I looked on in shock, she slipped her thumb and index finger through the holes in the scissors and clutched a lump of her long hair. With a determined glare, Lottie began to cut away the thick, clustered strands and drop them unceremoniously in the sink.
Panic swept through me. "No, Lottie." My voice cracked.
What the hell was she doing? This couldn't be part of the normal grief process. Another tuft of hair fell and then another. Unlike me, Lottie loved her hair. I couldn't watch... I just couldn't.
o0o
I walked down the street and kept walking with no direction until I couldn't smell the magnolia trees that grew in our garden and along our street. The reason behind Lottie's actions baffled me. Why would she want to look like me? Why would she want to copy me in anything I did? I'd made a mess of my life. I should never have gotten involved with Delia. Now, Lottie was headed down the exact same route.
"What is it I'm not saying clearly enough for you?" Jonas Darby demanded.
I jumped, startled by his voice and just in time to move out of his way as he trudged his way moodily along the pavement.
"You flatter yourself," I laughed blackly.
"I don't need to." As much as Jonas attempted to hide it, I saw his lip twitch at the corner and the tiny crescent line forming.
I wondered what he must have been like years ago, before he withdrew so far into himself and left only this scared, bitter husk for the world to see. I knew there must be a before because a hint of someone else remained and slipped out every now and then. I decided Jonas had probably been cocky, turning those soulful blue eyes on a gaggle of swooning teen girls, serenading them with eloquent thoughts stirred up by the old books he seemed to prefer. A trail of broken hearts long enough to stretch twice around the world probably followed him wherever he went. I spun on my heels to follow him. "Where are you going?
"Home."
"Where's home?"
"Around."
"Around where?"
He halted abruptly. "Look. Here is the shortened version," he growled directly into my face. "I'm not like the other idiot boys in school that you can bat your pretty eyelashes at and twist around your finger. I come from a long line of seers. I've moved around my entire life and lost every single person I love because of what I can do. I have seen stuff that would make your hair curl and I'm sick of it. I. Cannot. Help. You."
"You think I'm pretty?" I asked. It was inappropriate considering what he had just told me and I had no idea why it came out. Maybe it was a nervous reaction, because I wasn't thinking clearly after Lottie, or simply because I didn't know what else to say.
"What?" Jonas's eyes scrunched up, apparently mystified by my question.
"You said Lottie was pretty earlier." I pointed out hesitantly, moving back a little to put some distance between us. "Just now you said---"
"What's your point?" he broke in. His pushed down hard on his bag and the strap cut into his shoulder.
I stood there wide-eyed. I didn't have a point but I was having a bizarre reaction to stress. I paused for a moment to silently recount his words before my outburst.
I've lost every single person I love because of what I can do.
"I'm sorry," I breathed in a low voice. I meant it. For the first time today I could understand why Jonas may be reluctant to speak to me.
He bit the side of his lip and we stayed there on the deserted street staring at each other. Gradually his face smoothed. Five minutes must have passed before he visibly relaxed and angled his head.
"Come on," he instructed.
"Where?"
"All it takes is for one nosey neighbor to look out their window and see the crazy new boy shouting at thin air," he joked half-heartedly.
I got the distinct impression it may have happened before.
I followed him down the street in silence until we came to a small one-story house with whitewashed walls, a manicured garden and pretty flowerbeds along the pathway leading to the door. He opened and held the door for me to pass through first. The inside was in stark contrast to the outside, there was no furniture that I could see. Boxes were stacked everywhere making the place look more like a warehouse.
"I haven't got around to unpacking yet."
"Who lives here with you?" I asked walking through the hallway toward the back of the house. We passed a modern, clean kitchen. The unpacking process seemed a little further along there. A tray of red apples sat on the countertop beside an empty bowl and glass perfectly aligned to the edge.
"I live alone. I'm an emancipated teen," he snorted. "Now do you understand why I can't help you?"
I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure what to say because I felt terrible for him. He'd lost everything. At the same time, I still needed him to help me. There was nobody else. We entered his bedroom. It had been unpacked too, apart from several open boxes of books under the window. There were no posters on the walls, or trophies. The bed sheets were white and non-descript, as were the walls. A single framed photo of a family standing outside an ordinary suburban house sat on the dresser.
"My father was a doctor. My mom ran a rare book shop." His tone was unemotional as he flopped back onto his bed leaving me to examine the photograph.
He couldn't have been more than fifteen in it, grinning at the camera. He wore his hair shorter back then and his muscles had since filled out.
Jonas looked like his dad. They had the same tall build, dark hair and deep blue eyes. His mum and younger sister were slightly fairer and were both petite in comparison.
"What happened?" I ran my finger over the frame thinking of a similar photograph at home from when Lottie and I were young, before our dad left and our mom became emotionally absent.
Jonas shrugged and threw his arms over his head. His T-shirt pulled up and I noticed a straight raised scar across the right side his lower stomach. "Nothing I want to talk about."
I sat down at his feet and waited.
"Wow, were you this much of a pain in the ass when you were alive?"
I smirked. It was easier than commenting on something I wasn't sure about anymore. I mostly preferred the company of people with suspect morals.
"Some in my family can see the energy of those who haven't passed over. Not all the time, I mean it's not like I'm surrounded by dead people all day. No offense." He lifted up a little to look at me.
"None taken," I assured him.
He lay back and continued. "To cut a long, boring story short, my mom didn't always want to be different. Back in England we lived a normal, unexciting life until I was twelve. Then this woman starts hanging around. It took me a while to figure out what she was. She showed up everywhere we went and hung around outside our house. She needed someone to deliver a message to her husband and kid. My mom felt obligated to do it, she said she couldn't let the ghost of the woman linger here forever.
That was the start. I thought it was all so cool, and I was so special because I could see them too. My dad assisted my mom. It made them feel good... like a calling. A couple of years ago they got involved with a case concerning some shady people and those people came looking for us. Mom was American, so we came here to get away. They found us last year. I walked away, the rest of my family didn't."
"That's horrible."
"Yeah, well."
"So why don't you like people to touch you?"
"I can't tell who is who at first. So I don't touch anyone."
"That makes sense," I agreed, thinking about the effect I had on that neighbor. "But if you're emancipated and you don't like to be around people, why go to school?"
"Why do you?" he asked back.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I know I'm not really the same as everyone else but I still want to be a part of something. I guess I want to keep doing something that makes me feel I'm part of the world around me. Sometimes... sometimes I feel if I didn't, I might just disappear."
His piercing eyes locked on mine and he gave me a knowing smile. "And now you know."
"Is that why you spoke to me under the bleachers?"
He sighed thoughtfully. "I wanted to be me. For once I wanted to stop pretending with someone."
"You wanted to be seen," I said softly.
"I guess," Jonas shrugged.
I frowned. This boy proved more complex than I had given him credit for. Every time I peeled back a layer there was another underneath.
He rolled sideways and propped himself up on his elbow. "So, what about you?" He sounded interested and his tone had lightened significantly.
"Are we sharing now?" I smiled.
"Looks like it," Jonas agreed with a small grin.
I shifted slightly to face him better and inhaled deeply, filling my non-existent lungs. "I got in with the wrong crowd---Delia Montgomery and her minions."
"That girl I saw clinging onto your sister all day?" he questioned.
I nodded. "I was responsible for the class notes and tests that Delia sells to other students. I didn't know papers aren't the only things she sells. I was naïve. There is a journal that Delia carries with her all the time but it's not the original, I stole the original. Delia's been supplying the students with every type of happy pill and powder for a few years now and she keeps records. The journal contains details of every buy and sell, every party. Who took what, when and how. It's pretty damning. I may have been a high school brat but I was never a dealer and I wanted to turn her in. I stole the original journal.
"I told my plan to my friend, Will. Delia's father is a powerful man and I didn't know who I could trust. Will suggested we meet to talk. I was on my way to meet him when my brakes failed and I skidded into the rocks on the shore of Shepard River. Somehow, Delia found out and the journal burned up in my car. I saw a report down at the station before Delia's dad made it disappear." I shrugged.
"How do you know for sure?"
"She warned me if I ever crossed her, she would cut my brakes."
"I guess you should have listened."
I sucked in my lower lip and paused for a moment before I continued. "The thing is. She's leading my sister down the same road and I don't want that to happen."
"Please don't ask me to get in the middle of this. I can't."
"If you could just give her a message---"
"Are you deliberately not hearing no?" He sat up rapidly and his shoulders sagged forward. "You will have to figure out some other way to resolve your business."
I stood and walked around the foot of the bed to kneel in front of him. "It's just a message," I pressed. "I only want you to tell her to be careful. I don't want her to follow me anymore."
His head fell into his hands and his fingers treaded up through his hair with annoyance. I wanted to tug his hands away and make him listen to me, but I knew I couldn't. My hands itched to move toward him. I somehow doubted he would be grateful to me for making him ill. Instead, I clenched my fists tightly and just for good measure crossed my arms.
"It isn't that easy. It would mean exposing what I can do. What if she didn't believe, or if she told someone? I've lost too much already," Jonas grunted, pulling at his own hair.
"She will believe you. I know Lottie...and she has such a good heart. She could help you too. Do you want to be alone forever? Don't you ever want to have a friend?"
"You don't know the risk you are asking me to take."
I pressed down on my thighs and pushed myself off the ground. "You mean you are afraid. It isn't that you can't help. You won't."
His head lifted to reveal his bloodshot and watery eyes. All the blood drained from his face as I watched and disheveled hair stuck out at odd angles from his scalp.
"You have to go now. I won't help you."
o0o
By the time I got back home the sky had almost completely darkened to an opaque sapphire sheet dappled with dots of white light. I spent the journey thinking of other ways to get through to Lottie without Jonas's help. When I reached my room I didn't expect what I found.
Lottie was sitting on my bed, still covered with my pale, flowery comforter. Except it wasn't Lottie, it was me. Her short, styled hair looked just like mine. She had applied bronzer, and makeup still lay open and scattered across my dresser. The jeans and tank top she wore were from the clothes hanging in my closet. I moved around her, disturbed by her appearance and yet more by the item settled on her lap---Delia's journal, the one both Delia and I thought burned up in my car. Before I had time to fully assimilate the scene before me, her phone rang.
"Yes?" She paused and I attempted to get near enough to hear the other side of the conversation.
All I could pick out was a mumbled female voice giving instructions. The world spun out of control around me and my own pulse drummed in my head like a hammer.
"I'll be there," Lottie said flatly. "I just want to talk." The phone clicked off and Lottie moved off the bed holding the journal against her chest.
Déjà vu. Apprehension prickled across my scalp and slithered down my spine like ice-cold water. I could see the last moments of my life flash before my eyes. Except, the girl in front of me wasn't some fragment of a memory playing out in my mind.
I didn't stop to think or to check Lottie's car for signs of tampering, it didn't take a genius to work out she was facing the same fate I had. If not with the car, Delia would find some other way to silence Lottie. That is, if my sister's appearance as my doppelganger out for revenge didn't give her a heart attack first.
I rushed down the driveway and toward the only place where I knew there was someone who could help me.
o0o
I never reached Jonas's house, he had already started out in the direction of mine. For an instant I breathed a sigh of relief thinking it must be because he had relented and planned to help me. Then I noticed his hard expression and his eyes actively avoiding me.
"You have to help me," I cried as I approached him.
He didn't answer or acknowledge me. It was as if I wasn't there again. I continued to hope my pleading wouldn't fall on deaf ears.
"My sister has the journal and Delia knows. You have to warn her."
"I'm going to the library," he said through clenched teeth. "I don't know how many ways I can tell you that I can't help."
"Just listen to me please," I begged. I was ready to get down on my knees if I had to but I wished it wouldn't come to that. We didn't have time. This close to home I had already caught the fragrant magnolia scent floating in the warm breeze.
"No," Jonas said coldly. His lips barely moved and his eyes stayed fixed on the pavement. He flatly refused to look at me. "I've told you already. Leave me alone."
He kept walking, leaving me no choice but to move out of his way. I moved beside him instead, scurrying to keep pace walking backward. I didn't want to miss any of his movements. Jonas could ignore me if he wanted but his body language told another story. I could see his hands curl into fists even through the fabric of his tattered jeans, his shoulders bent forward so his long bangs kept his eyes under cover. He could hear me just fine.
"So what now, are you just going to pretend I don't exist?"
He flicked his hair to the side and I caught a flash of blue before it disappeared again behind his downcast eyelids. "Pretty much." His jaw muscle flexed with the words under a light splattering of stubble that had grown during the day.
For a few moments there was nothing but silence between us and the sound of his sneakers scuffing with each step. Before today I had no idea how irritating that sound was.
"If you could save your sister you would," I barked at him. "I can save mine, but I can't do it without your help." I swallowed thickly and my eyes stung with imagined tears.
Jonas continued to ignore me and lumbered down the pavement, moving out of the way when an old man passed with a small dog out for his nightly walk.
I fell on my knees, just as I knew I would and called out to him. "Please Jonas. I don't want my sister to die."
His shoulders flinched; the small reaction told me he heard. Nevertheless, he kept walking. I was on my own. I stayed there until Jonas disappeared from view, swallowed up by the night and wishing in every second he would turn and come back. He never did.
o0o
I rushed back to the house where Lottie was fiddling with a set of keys by her red sedan. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't seem to get a grip on the one she needed while still holding the journal. I couldn't allow Lottie to get in that car or go through with this crazy game. I only had one option. With a deep breath, I stepped toward her.
The moment my fingers touched Lottie's waist, the icy chill needled over my skin and sank through my flesh to settle in my bones. All my instincts cried danger and told me to pull away. I couldn't. There was more danger in pulling away. I shoved my fingers deeper and Lottie sagged against the door of the car. The keys dropped from her hand but she held fast to the journal, refusing to give up. Every single nerve vibrated painfully and my body felt as though I'd been immersed in a barrel of freezing water.
Lottie's stomach lurched, I felt it against my fingers and I dug deeper. It wasn't only my fingers, but my hands and wrists. It was as though I was slipping under the water and struggling for air. My lungs burned and energy poured from me like milk from a jug. Lottie bent over and gagged repeatedly. The force knocked me backward through the air. I landed, sprawled out on the ground, exhausted.
That was it. I had played my only joker. When Lottie finished emptying her stomach and groggily righted herself, I remained on the ground. She picked up her keys and this time had no trouble in locating the correct one. I watched in horror as my sister, now looking the spitting image of me, got into the driver's seat. It didn't make sense for her to face Delia alone, or at all. Of course, I knew she was simply following my example.
I pushed myself off the ground and staggered forward before crashing back down. The engine started. I closed my eyes as my head hit the cool grass.
I didn't notice the sound of rubber peeling on the pavement until it was right beside us. For a split second I was convinced it was an illusion. I forced my eyes to open and there he was.
Jonas stood with both hands settled on the hood of the red sedan. The beams from the headlights cast his huge shadow over the driveway. Relief welled up inside me. The bright lights were blinding and I blinked over and over trying to clear my vision. Instead of clearing, the light grew brighter still, until it was all around me and wrapped me up in a cocoon of white and warmth. I felt weightless, floating and overcome with peace. The last thing I heard was Jonas's voice telling Lottie that I didn't want her to follow in my footsteps.
o0o
My death was quick and painless, not that I would wish it on anyone. My neck snapped and I died instantly. My afterlife was harder.
Lottie took quite a bit of convincing but Jonas refused to give up. Eventually, he persuaded her to hand Delia's journal over to the state police instead of confronting Delia as she'd planned. He gave Lottie a shoulder to lean on and she gave him friendship. At last Jonas could understand his parents a little better and their need to help others. There was no way for me to thank him for what he did, but I was grateful to know he was no longer alone with his secret.
The night I died Lottie had crept into my room and taken the journal from my bag. It didn't burn like I'd thought. It had never been in the car. She knew before I did what Delia was doing. Lottie had intended to confront me with the journal. She'd planned to encourage me to turn it in, unaware that had been my intention all along.
Lottie suspected Delia had a hand in my death and spent the last weeks collecting more evidence against her and that's why Lottie spent so much time with her. I was too consumed with my own petty jealously of Lottie to see it. Narcissistic to the core, Delia had recorded the details of that night and how she knew about my plans to meet Will. However, Delia didn't cut the brakes in my car. Her new journal revealed it was Will. The only person I thought wasn't taken in by Delia was the one she had corrupted the most of all. I wasn't angry with him, she had used us both like marionettes, dancing for her twisted amusement.
As for Lottie, I understood in the end. She didn't set out to replace me, she never wanted to be like me. When she realized I was about to expose Delia, she set out to finish what I had started. Once she did, we were both able to find peace.
This original story was written for a Fandom compilation. It has been revised, extended and re-edited. Thank you to Lisa Sanchez, Killian McRae, KiTT at TongueTwied, Emily McNew, Beckie Louise Treble and Debra Anastasia for your extensive input and constant support. You ladies rock! Thank you to Alan, now and always. You rock too.
About the Author
Carol made her debut into the world in the early hours of Christmas morning. She was introduced to the world of supernatural books when, as a child, her family moved to a costal suburb of north Dublin known as Clontarf; famous as the birthplace of Bram Stoker, the prolific author responsible for breathing life into the legendary story of "Dracula." This stirred in Carol an early passion for reading about all things supernatural. When that passion was combined with a vivid imagination, Carol's love of writing about anything not entirely "human" emerged.
CarolOates.com
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