Aftersight (5 page)
Authors: Brian Mercer
Cali
Sacramento, California
September 22
"It's not that complicated, really. We get on Interstate-5 and go north, up through Oregon and into Washington." Derrick traced the route on the map with his finger. "It's a straight shot to Tacoma. Eleven maybe twelve hours, depending on traffic and food and gas stops. We stay at my buddy Hollis's place long enough to sell the car, then he takes us over the border to Vancouver. My cousin says he'll let us stay in his spare room until we get on our feet. We can work at my uncle's restaurant. It won't be much, but he'll pay us under the table, so what we earn we keep." He nudged me with his elbow, adding in a mock accent, "Whata ya say, Dipper? We're gonna be Canadians, eh?"
I stared down at the page, ignoring Derrick's dumb joke. "I'm not saying we're
gonna
leave early, you dork. I just want to know we can go sooner if we have to."
For the millionth time, I thought about my psychic reading and Nicole's warning â
it's not a good idea; it looks like it might even be a little da
n
gerous for you â
and mulled over everything that might go wrong. I still wanted to wait until January, when I'd officially graduate from high school, but didn't know how much longer I'd live with Dad, who I'd taken to calling "The Loser." The Loser and his girlfriend, Tammy, had been fighting almost constantly these past few weeks. At first I really had thought I'd get in my dad's face about the drugs and the booze, but now couldn't even imagine what that conversation might sound like.
What would happen to Dad if I bolted
and
Tammy left him? Then all of his family would have abandoned him â first Chris, then Mom, and now me â and he'd have no one. But it wasn't Dad and Tammy's fighting that made me think about leaving early, as horrible as it was to hear Tammy's shrieks and The Loser slamming doors. No, I worried that Tammy might cut bait before Derrick and I had a chance to get away. If Tammy left and it was just me and Dad, I wasn't sure if I could bring myself to desert him when the time came.
I was exhausted. I could hardly put two coherent thoughts together. I couldn't remember what a quiet night's sleep felt like. Since the night of my first out-of-body experience, now more than two months ago, there had been others. Like the first one, I'd come to with only pieces of memories of what had happened.
I usually remembered the exit itself â the deafening humming and whooshing sounds, my heartbeat battering my chest, the powerful vibrations that lashed me from toes to skull. It felt like I was ripping apart. I would fight it with all my will, but in the end it was always the same. The lifting, sometimes wrenching of my spirit up and out of my body. I despised every moment, the paralysis, the panic, the terrible sense of losing control. The more I resisted, the more powerfully I seemed to be propelled out.
I usually didn't remember much of what happened after the exit. I recalled flying sometimes, the very real sense of movement passing through my stomach, rising through the darkness above a sprawling, grid-like pattern; gliding over shadowy, misty woods; flitting through cityscapes far too beautiful to be from this world.
I remembered faces, too, people who I met again and again. I could see myself standing in a park, beautifully green and lush, with three pretty girls who were somehow good friends of mine but whose faces I could never quite recall. I remembered sitting in a large facility that felt like a classroom, listening to a lecture with a dozen people of all ages and races, students I recognized from a school now forgotten. And then there was that old Victorian home with cozy period furniture and, strangely, a young, shaggy-haired cowboy with a black, wide-brimmed cowboy hat. I remembered him most of all, his thrilling dusk-colored eyes and a smile that instantly sucked the air out of my lungs.
But the most striking person I stumbled across was the old man, white haired, goateed, who I thought of as The Butler. He had distinguished features, kind, gentle eyes, and moved with a stately poise that made me think of Bruce Wayne's manservant, Alfred. The Butler was easily the person I'd come across most often during my out-of-body trips. And, like a butler, he seemed to be guiding me through a new domain, orienting me to the rules, showing me around. He was just the sort of wise, good-hearted person I'd never had in my life and I desperately wished that he could be real.
Of all my out-of-body experiences, one clear memory stood out above the rest. In it I found myself standing outside my house at nighttime in the middle of the street. A light rain had fallen and the pavement was black with wet, the air coated with a dusty, first-rain-of-the-season smell. I hadn't remember how I got there, but knew I wasn't sleeping. Everything around me had been too sharp and real to be a dream.
Fragments of my old desktop computer had littered the street. It had been smashed, as if dropped from hundreds of feet. I remember looking down at it regretfully, thinking of all that was in it that I'd lost â journals, pictures, old chat logs â the chronicles of who I was and what I'd been.
Before I could think of what to do, I'd levitated a few feet off the ground, as if lifted by invisible puppet strings. I'd glanced around, uneasy, as I started to drift down the street. At first it was just a gentle gliding, then I'd started to go faster. In the distance, at an empty traffic intersection, I'd seen a spinning vortex of light that seemed to be drawing me toward its center. Before I had time to resist, it vacuumed me in and through a winding, whirlpool-like tunnel with a gaudily colorful harlequin design wallpapering its warped surface. The last thing I remembered of the experience was the jarring sound of calliope music echoing circus-like through my head.
I was living a double life in my sleep, a second reality with recurring settings and a familiar cast of characters too constant to be merely dreams. Yet I couldn't remember enough to put it all into order or find a meaningful pattern. I just wanted to make it all stop, to put head to pillow without fear of being abruptly wrenched out of my bones and flung helplessly into the darkness.
I looked up from the road atlas to my computer, the one from my vision, currently sitting whole and undamaged. If Derrick and I decided to leave right away, how much could I reasonably take? I'd been mentally packing for months. Each new item list was shorter and shorter until the inventory of what I truly valued totaled what I could carry in a small backpack.
"What do you think your dad will do when he finds out we've left?" Derrick asked.
I shook my head and sighed. "There's no way to guess. I can't imagine that The Loser will give a crap, but you never know what might set him off."
"If we wait until January, you'll be eighteen and it won't matter."
"I wish it were that easy." I thought back again to my session with Nicole and the promise I'd made to Chris to be careful about what I was planning. "Just have everything you want to take ready to pack up at a moment's notice. When it's time, I want to be out of here in a few hours. No regrets and no looking back."
****
The last school bell of the day echoed from campus and students began filing out the back entrance. I'd made it a point to leave sixth period early so I could watch the mass exit from a discreet distance. I scanned the crowd for Nicole's tall, conspicuous form, sure today would be the day I'd finally spot her. I'd been watching Sac High students leave school for the past week from every possible angle and so far I hadn't seen the girl who three months ago had helped me contact my dead brother, Chris.
I was certain that Nicole, with her knowledge of the spirit world, could tell me more about my out-of-body experiences. I'd told Derrick all about them, but he had nothing to say beyond how cool it was and how much he wished it would happen to him. Besides Nicole, there wasn't anyone I could talk to who wouldn't think I was nipping into Dad's drug stash.
I waited at least twenty minutes after school let out before making a sweep of the corridors, hoping to find her lingering in a classroom or the library, but I already knew I'd missed her. Maybe Nicole and her aunt had taken a tour of the campus and changed their minds about enrolling here. It sure seemed like they could afford better.
In fact, I'd crossed paths with Nicole on three separate occasions since my reading in August, but never at school. Once had been at a mall, where I'd spotted her and her aunt Alice walking into a high-end department store. The second had been across town, sipping iced coffee with Alice at an outdoor cafe. The third had been a week after school started, at the fruit smoothie bar where I worked part-time. I'd wanted so much to say hello, but there had been too many customers for us to connect. I wasn't sure Nicole had even recognized me outside the sheltered existence of her aunt's home.
The odds of seeing Nicole by chance in three far-removed places in such a short time seemed almost nil, when the likeliest place of running into her â at school â had never happened. Each time, Nicole's aunt Alice had been with her, like a parole officer. It made me wonder if the old lady ever let Nicole out of her sight. The conversation I wanted to have with Nicole was private and I didn't relish having to show up at their house unexpectedly or making a formal appointment. How upfront could I be with Alice eavesdropping on every word?
I made my way home on foot, despite the afternoon's heat and how easy it would be to take the bus. The idea of waiting at the bus stop made me woozy. Weeks without a good night's sleep had caught up with me. It felt much better to keep moving. As long as I walked on the shady side of the street, I'd be okay.
I moved closer to Miller Park, with its tall screen of trees offering protection from the afternoon sun. Cutting through the park would save me walking several blocks and take me by a convenience store where I could buy something cold to drink. I was making my way through a secluded part of the park where the shade trees were thickest when I heard a familiar southern accent.
"Well, this takes the cake. It looks like someone wants us to get together."
To my right, in the shadow of a poplar tree, sat Nicole in a white blouse and a peasant skirt that matched the color of her bottle-green eyes. Nicole closed the book she'd been reading and smiled. "Why, Cali Hart, would you be so kind as to join me?"
When I recovered from my surprise, I edged toward her, swallowing the idiotic remarks that came to mind about the coincidence of our paths crossing at this exact moment. "You remember me?" was the best I could do.
"Of course I remember you, sweetie. I think you're the only girl my own age I've had a full conversation with since I moved here."
"Oh?"
"You have questions for me, don't you? It's okay. I don't bite. Listen, we have a tree out back that's givin' us lemons faster than we can squeeze. I would be most honored if you would accompany me to my house and join me for some lemonade. Unless I would be infringin' on your plans?"
I didn't recover my wits until I was in the passenger seat of Nicole's sporty red car, heading toward her house to the litany of her observations about Sacramento in general and Sac High in particular. She didn't pause in her monologue until we'd pulled into her aunt's driveway.
"Oh..." Nicole said doubtfully, silent for the first time since she'd started the car.
"What?"
"Aunt Alice isn't here."
"It's okay that I'm here, isn't it?"
She sighed. "Aunt Alice'll have a hissy fit if I have a guest over when she's not home."
Nicole reached for her purse, took out her cell phone and slid it open. After a moment's thought, she snapped it closed again. "It's okay. It should be fine."
Still, it wasn't in the house but in the backyard that Nicole appeared with the familiar silver tray and pitcher of freshly made lemonade.
Maybe,
I thought as she poured out drinks to the clinking of ice cubes and swishing of thinly sliced lemons,
she hopes to get off on a technicality, since the backyard isn't exactly
in
the house, is it?
Nicole rambled for another few minutes, hardly pausing to sip her drink, when finally she said, "Okay, I'd better stop now. I tend to babble when I'm nervous and it's time to button my lip and let you have a turn."
I'd been admiring the backyard, which was as well-manicured as the house. Dominated by a bright blue swimming pool surrounded by a many-leveled deck, it was curtained off from neighbors by tall hedges and mature trees that lined its borders. We were seated under an awning covering oversized furniture. On one side of the space was a built-in gas grill, a refrigerator, and stainless steel sink â what amounted to an outdoor kitchen.
"You and your aunt have a nice place."
"Why, thank you."
"Why are you nervous?"
"What?"
"You said you were nervous."
She blushed. The skin along her throat and chest turned a blotchy red. "Mmm. I get flustered meetin' new people. This whole, you know, psychic thing isn't easy for me. I'd ruther be inside with my novels and my piano."
"Then why do it?"
"Because Aunt Alice thinks it's a good idea."
"To help people?"
"Something like that."
"What about your parents?"
"They passed away."
I'd been sampling my lemonade when she said this and to fill the silence that followed Nicole added, "They'd chartered a flight from Miami to the Bahamas. It went down somewhere over the ocean. I was just shy of fifteen when it happened."
My heart seemed to constrict. I knew what it was like to lose a family member and could just imagine what it was like to lose both parents. Something like it was happening to me.
"I'm so sorry. No brothers or sisters?"
"Just Aunt Alice. She's been my legal guardian ever since. She looks after me and manages the trust."
"The trust, huh? So, do you get this big inheritance when you turn eighteen?" I giggled nervously.
"I am eighteen. Momma held me back a year before startin' school. As she liked to say, 'My Nicole is
not
like other girls.'"
"A girl who can talk to dead people. Yeah, I'll bet."
"Twenty-eight."
"Huh?"
She gestured around the yard with her lemonade glass. "When I'm twenty-eight all this will be mine." She smiled bleakly.
"Whoa. You mean your aunt's buying houses and furniture with
your
money?" This explained why Alice didn't seem to have a job.
"Not
my
money until I'm twenty-eight."
"Hey, I'm sorry. I'll shut up. It's none of my business."
"It's okay, sweetie. Really."
"No, it's not. I've got a big mouth and I don't know how to use it." I took a long swallow from my lemonade, emptying the last of it. "So, if you can communicate with spirits, does that mean you can talk to your folks?"
Another unhappy smile. "No, not really. My parents are two spirits I
hav
e
n't
been able to talk with."
"Wow, that sucks."
"It does, actually. All my life I've been able to see and talk with spirits and the two people in the world I'd most like to talk to, I can't. Kind of ironic, if you think about it."
"What's it like, you know, talking with spirits?"
Nicole shrugged. "Nothin' unusual. Not to me. I was good friends with my granddaddy when I was just a little, little girl. He'd take me on the swings, on the slide. Play with me in the backyard. It was only much later that I learned he'd died well before I was born."
"I bet that freaked your mom out."
"It did, as a matter of fact. Momma was never comfortable with it. She tried as hard as she could to give me a normal life. Ballet. Piano lessons. Pageanting. My talent in the pageants was always dancin' or piano recitals. My true talent was far too interesting for the show, I suppose."
I mulled over how I might transition our talk to my out-of-body experiences. For weeks I'd visualized this moment. Lying in bed, terrified at what I knew would come next, the idea of confiding in Nicole was the only thing that let me cope. Yet now that the moment was actually here, I found it hard to get started.
"It's okay, sweetie," Nicole prompted, as if reading my mind. "Whatever it is, you can ask me. Charlie told me the day we met that we were gonna be closer than two coats of paint."
"Charlie?"
She blushed again. "Mmm. Charlie's my spirit guide. Kinda like a guardian angel, if you want to think of it that way."
"I bet that comes in handy."
"It does," she replied. "Sometimes I think Charlie does more lookin' out after me than Aunt Alice. It was probably more on account of him than anything else that I survived through my parents'... departure."
Nicole wore a gold hairband that drew back the curtain of her auburn hair. Like our first meeting, I couldn't help admiring the contours of her face, how effortlessly and unconsciously pretty she was. I tugged compulsively at my lip ring, wishing I could have that for myself.
"I was just fourteen years old when Charlie came into my life. It was like I conjured him, like a genie or a fairy godfather or somethin'. But I sure did need him at the time.
"You see, when I was about twelve years old, guess who should start to visit me but Santa Claus. Old St. Nick himself! Oh, Cali, you shoulda seen him. He was skinnier than I'd imagined, but with a fluffy white, full beard and intense black eyes. And, whenever I was sad or lonely or needed someone to talk to, Santa would appear and comfort me. He was a real good listener.
"Then when I was in the eighth grade and I started to, you know, develop." She gestured toward her breasts. "Santa started to materialize in the room when I was changing or taking a shower. Then one night when I was in the bathtub, he appeared to me as I was taking a bath and asked me to do things to myself that I didn't feel comfortable doin', you know, in front of other people.
"And that's when it hit me. This wasn't Santa Claus! This was some white-bearded, no account spirit who was
tellin'
me he was Santa Claus." She shuddered. "That's when I called out for help. I mean, I prayed like I never prayed before. And that's when Charlie shows up. He's like this old, very wise looking Chinese man with a long Fu Manchu mustache. I can't pronounce his real name, so I just call him Charlie, after my favorite storybook detective, Charlie Chan"
"That story is pretty creepy, Nicole."
"Gives me the willies every time I think about it."
"So this Charlie, he said we'd be friends, then."
"Yeah, that first day when you walked into the sunroom. Charlie is there for all my readings on account of I'm so terrified of doing it. Anyway, he stands like right behind me to my left and as soon as you walked into the room he says to me, 'She's a nice girl. You two are gonna be very good friends.'"
I chuckled uneasily. "'Nice girl.' Maybe he doesn't know me so well, then."
Nicole smiled, a true radiant smile. "I wouldn't say that. Charlie hasn't let me down yet."
Her eyes locked on mine and for what seemed like a full minute I gazed back at her, long after I should have looked away. Something in the center of my body was falling, falling, similar to the feeling before projecting out-of-body. Who
was
this girl?
"You can ask me your question," Nicole said without lowering her eyes. "It's okay, sweetie. Really."
I hesitated only a moment. I started by telling her about my sleep paralysis issues that started after my brother died, the sense of a presence in the room, how terrifying it was. Then I moved on to the out-of-body experiences that started, coincidentally, the day I had the reading with her. I explained the recurring places and people I'd visit, especially the old man I called The Butler. "I want to make it stop," I told her. "I need to make it stop. My life is messed up enough without having to deal with this."
"I don't think having out-of-body experiences is anything all that unusual," she said. "I think what's significant, though, is your
rememberin'
'em. Why now, of all times?"
"Nicole!"
We jumped simultaneously. Aunt Alice stood on the back patio near the open French doors looking as prim and well-dressed as she had on every occasion I'd seen her. She grinned through gritted teeth. "May I have a word with you?"
Nicole smiled at me uncomfortably. She had gone from a relaxed but poised reclining posture to something stiff and self-conscious. "Just a minute," she said quietly. "I'll be back in two shakes."
She moved reluctantly toward her aunt. Alice hissed for several breaths. Nicole answered, "Yes, Aunt Alice. No, Aunt Alice. I'm sorry, Aunt Alice."
Finally, Alice went back into the house, closing the door with a bang.
"I'm sorry," Nicole said when we were alone again. "I'm afraid we're gonna have to cut our visit short. But we'll talk again. This is just the beginnin' for us. I promise. Charlie doesn't lie." Nicole reached for my hand and squeezed it before pulling me close and giving me a hug. "I know there's a lot goin' on right now," she whispered so closely that I felt her breath tickling my ear. "Please trust me, sweetie. Help's comin'. I can feel it. Just hang on, okay?"