Fearscape (2 page)

“
Good,” said Val. “I beat my time from last week.”

“
That's wonderful, honey. What was your time?”

“
Six minutes and forty seconds,” Val said, pride creeping shyly into her voice.

Mrs. Kimble laughed. “I wonder who you got that from. Your father wouldn't run if he were a computer, and Lord knows I never did better than a nine minute mile. Even at my prime.” She shook her head mournfully. “Which was a long, long time ago.”

“
Nine minutes isn't so bad, Mom.”

“
Please,” her mother said. “I'm an old tortoise.”

“
No you're not — I think you look great!”

Val's mother cut her eyes at her daughter. “That's very sweet. What do you want?”

“
Nothing. I was just — ” Val broke off when she realized her mother was laughing. “So not funny,” she mumbled, folding her arms and glaring out the window.

“
I'm sorry. That was wrong of me. What do you say to some coffee to celebrate your victory?”

Val peeked at her mother. “Can I have a large?”

“
You can have,” her mother said, with finality, “Whatever you want.”

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

One visit to the drive-through later, Val was walking through her front door and up the stairs to her bedroom with a green tea frappuccino. She paused in the doorway for a beat, regarding her room with a faint smile. As cliché as it was, her bedroom was her sanctuary. White carpet, white walls, with a fluffy pink comforter that was as soft as a cloud. Bookshelf pushed up against the far wall, beneath the window, with all her favorite classics from a childhood that wasn't so long ago filling up the bottom-most shelf. A pile of CDs stacked haphazardly on display beside her computer — Kelly Clarkson, Tegan and Sara, David Cook, and Michelle Branch. A pile of CDs hidden away in her closet, but not dusty — 'N Sync, Britney Spears (all of them, except for the eponymous album), and a handful of artists featured on Radio Disney.

Yes, she was home. Safe.

And yet, in the pocket of her track shorts the poem was burning a hole, whispering at a threat Val didn't yet understand. Her smile faded as she looked it over a second time. The poem was too good to be the work of a student — Val knew this instinctively, having read far too many of her friends' own creations, most notably Lisa's. She suspected it had been ripped from somewhere. Most likely the internet.

Time to find out.

She set her drink on her nightstand, dumped her backpack in front of her closet, and then sat down at her computer. To narrow her search she encapsulated the lines of the stanza between quotation marks. To her surprise, she achieved results far more quickly than she thought she would. The poem was an excerpt from a work by John Donne, a contemporary of William Shakespeare in Elizabethan England. It was entitled Batter My Heart:

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurp'd town to'another due,

Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end;

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But it is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly'I love you, and would be lov'd fain,

But am betroth'd unto your enemy;

Divorce me 'untie or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

The site listed some other works, as well, and Val read the first couple that were listed. She enjoyed
The Prohibition
the most. The others were either too confusing to understand, or so dark that she didn't want to grasp the meaning that lay behind them. Batter My Heart fell into both categories, but especially the latter. 'Imprison me?' 'Never be free?' 'Ravish?' These words and phrases evoked violent images that made her shudder. And part of her couldn't help but suspect that this was the intended effect.

Chapter Two

Rain spattered the window. Val watched the drops from her bed as they coursed slowly down the glass, keeping her eye on two in particular — waiting to see which would win the race. She was betting on the one on the left. There were more droplets in its path, more opportunities to gain momentum and pick up speed.

“
Val, are you — ” Mrs. Kimble's words cut off as she poked her head into her daughter's bedroom and saw her lying partially off her bed while staring at the window upside-down. “What on earth are you doing?”

Val didn't take her eyes from the window. “Watching the rain.”

Mrs. Kimble laughed, or started to, but she turned it into a cough. She said sternly, “Well you can't stay in bed all day. Go do something productive. Read. Watch TV. Call Lisa.”

“
Watching TV is productive? Since when?”

“
Valerian Marie Kimble, if you do not get out of that bed right this instant I'm going to take away your computer.”

Val slid her legs off her pink comforter, throwing a backwards glance at the window. The raindrop on the left had won, she was satisfied. She trailed after her mother, who was headed for the kitchen. “Don't eat anything,” Mrs. Kimble warned. “I'm making dinner.”

Val made a face at her turned back and snatched a bottle of juice from the fridge and a bag of sunflower seeds, pinching the crinkly bag between her fingertips as she ran back to her room, shutting the door so her mother wouldn't hear the crunching and investigate.

She set the snack on her desk and picked up her cell phone. Call Lisa, her mother had said. Ugh. Lisa's mother probably didn't make her get out of bed; in fact, she probably would have been happy. She was always grounding Lisa for staying out too late or going over her phone plan, which was why Val was calling her house number, and not her cell phone.

Horror of horrors, this meant Mrs. Jeffries picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“
Um, hi, Mrs. Jeffries.”

“
Oh,
Val
, is that you? You're practically
family
, dear. Please, call me
Donna
.”

“
Is Lisa there?” Val asked, unable to keep the desperation
from her voice. “Could I — ”

“
Lisa's in the
bathroom
, as usual,” Mrs. Jeffries said, “Curling her
hair
. How are you,
Val?
I feel like I haven't spoken to you in
ages
.”

That was not an accident.
“I guess I've been so busy lately, with track and stuff. Lisa — ”

“
That's
right
. You're on the
track
team. How is your
mother
, Val?”

“
She — ”

“
You're such a
pleasure
to talk to, Val, such a good
listener
.”

Only because talking to Mrs. Jeffries left one with no other choice.
Help
, thought Val.

Salvation came in the form of a shout in the background. “Mom, is that Val?”

“
Darling, we're
inside —
use your
indoor
voice. Yes, it's your little friend,
Val
. We were just catching
up
, weren't we, Val?”

Val bristled at being called 'little.'

“
Gimmie the phone, Mom. God — give it — you always
do this!”

There was the sound of a scuffle and a barely-muffled
argument, and then Lisa's sigh of relief crackling like a burst of static as she finally managed to wrest the phone away.

“
Sorry about that,” Lisa said breathlessly. “I try to pick up first, but
Mom
beat me to it this time. She seriously needs to get some friends of her own and stop trying to pick off mine.”

“
I thought she was going to meet up with those army wives she met online.”

“
Been there, done that, gotten the t-shirt. It didn't work out.”

Lisa's father was currently serving in Afghanistan. “Why?” she asked. “You'd think she'd be able to manage to overcome any differences — ”

“
You'd think so, but no. She made them all hate her. They won't return her calls now.”

“
How did that happen?”

“
She wouldn't tell
me
. All I got out of her was that they were a bunch of gossipy bitches and that she was never going back there again and blah, blah, blah — just like high school.”

“
That sucks.”

“
Oh, God. Tell me about it. Knowing her, she probably brought up some icky subject and wouldn't take a hint when
one of them started kicking at her leg to shut her up. But whatever, I am so tired of my mom. What's going on with you?”

“
I've been reduced to raindrop-racing.”

“
That's a new low, even for you.”

“
You can make fun of me for it, or you can help me
do
something about it. Pick one.”

“
Can't I have both?”

“
No.”

“
Fine. I suppose we can go out.”

Val sighed. Good. Now her mother would get off her back.

“
Where do you want to go?”

“
Where do
you
want to go?” Val asked, “You know I hate deciding.”

“
We can go to that indie coffee place and flirt with the hot baristas.”

“
I'm not supposed to eat. The
hausfrau
is making dinner.”

“
We could go to the used record store and listen to music until they kick us out.”

“
We did that last weekend. I
like
going there. I don't want
to end up blacklisted like they did to James.”

“
James was throwing CDs at his friends, and only because his older brother gave him one of those Cocaine energy drinks. But that's just fine, Miss Picky-Pants. What do
you
want to do?”

Val groaned inwardly. “Bowling?”

“
Maybe if we were both nine, and at somebody's lame-ass birthday party.”

“
Movie?”

“
Nothing good's out.”

“
Bookstore?”

“
Are you kidding? I'm already behind in my readings for honors English. I don't need
more
books.”

“
Well — ” Val thought desperately. This was exactly why she hated making decisions. “Um, they just opened a new Petville in the Derringer Shopping Plaza. Do you want to go there and look around? See if they have any cute baby animals?”

“
Oh, all right,” said Lisa, “and maybe I'll even pick up some Starbucks, too. Is your mom driving? I don't want to ask mine.”

“
Hang on.” Val set the phone down on the desk. “Hey, Mom?”

“
Yes?” Slightly muffled. She was digging in the freezer.

“
Can you drive Lisa and me to the Petville at the shopping center?”

Her mother peered out from behind the fridge door. “
Pet
ville? As in a pet store?”

“
Just to look, not to buy. And I'll wash my hands really good before eating.”

“
Really well,” Mrs. Kimble corrected automatically. “I suppose. It's my fault for telling you to get out of the house, isn't it? It wouldn't be right to punish you for taking me up on it.” She set a bag of frozen vegetables on the speckled granite counter. “Let me just put these in the crock pot.”

So, in other words, she'd be another fifteen minutes.

Val needed to change clothes, anyway. She wasn't about to go out in public in her sweatpants — not the ones from her old middle school, anyway. She had standards, in spite of what Lisa liked to think. Speaking of which, she still had her on hold, didn't she?

Val picked up her phone and caught strains of bored
humming. “Lisa? My mom says yes.”

“
Thank God — get here as soon as you can.”

You're welcome
, thought Val, as the line went dead.