Forsaken (4 page)

Friday. The day my life would change forever.  I was embarking on a new journey, a completely different direction and I had no idea what to expect.  It was as much unsettling as it was exciting.  I sank into seat 12C on the plane and said a quick goodbye to Atlanta as well as the life I was leaving behind.  I’d gotten pretty good at goodbyes.  Maybe a little too good.  I had lived with five different foster families before being adopted at the age of thirteen, and I had made sure never to allow myself to get attached to anyone or any place.  I never knew when I’d be picking up and moving on to the next place.  It was just easier that way. My current situation was a good example of that.

Unfortunately
, by the time I arrived at the Whitman’s home three years ago, that self-defense mechanism had stuck and no matter how hard they tried, those walls had been built too tall and too thick to break through.  I had so many barriers around my heart; it would take an entire army to break them down.  Until that army came, I was perfectly content with my walls.  I’d gotten used to the security, albeit dysfunctional, that they had provided me through the years.   

I watch
ed the Atlanta skyline shrink below me, as we gained altitude.  I reminded myself, once again, that a person was more likely to die in a car crash, than a plane crash.  I closed my eyes and tried my best to get comfortable.  The sound of heavy footsteps made me open my eyes in confusion.  Smoke swirled in the slanted rays of sunlight coming through the windows, and the smell of old cigarettes mixed with stale liquor filled my senses. I wasn’t on the plane anymore.

Suddenly
, I was lifted to my feet.  Glaring at me through bloodshot eyes, he held me up with one hand, and shook an empty ice cube tray in the other.

“
Why’s there not any ice cubes?” he slurred.  The stench of his breath in my face made me gag. “The water ain’t gonna jump out the sink and freeze it’s damn self!”

He threw
me back onto the coach and tossed the empty ice cube tray in my lap. “Go make me a drink,” he demanded through yellow teeth.  I looked up at him, hoping I didn’t sound as scared as I felt.

“No,
” I whispered.

“No
!?  Is that what you just said?” His oversized hand gripped my scraggly arm and dragged me into the kitchen.  Before I could regain my footing, he pushed me against the cabinets. One of the blunt, metal drawer knobs pressed into my back. 

“Make.
me. a. drink.” He loomed over me with blood-shot eyes.

I
crouched down to hide my face, hoping he’d just give up and leave me alone.  Instead, he threw an empty beer bottle at my head.  His aim was surprisingly good for being so drunk.  It shattered against the side of my face and shards of brown glass stuck into my skin.  The pain was sharp and immediate.  I scrambled to my feet and ran down the short hallway, while he stumbled after me laughing.  I made it to my bedroom first, shutting myself inside the small closet opposite my twin bed.  My breath came quick as fear constricted my throat.  I placed my hand over my mouth.  I didn’t know if I was going to scream or cry, but I couldn’t afford to give away my hiding spot.  The ringing of the phone in the living room stopped his black boots from breaking the threshold of my small room.  He mumbled something inaudible and stumbled back down the hallway.  As soon as he was gone, I let the sobs building in my throat spill out.  Hot tears instantly mixed with the fresh blood running down my cheek, while my head pounded from the newly formed welt on my face. 

The
closet door creaked as I peeked out, cautiously, making sure he was really gone.  Expecting to see my bedroom, I was shocked to find the scene before me had completely changed.  As I got to my feet, it became apparent to me that I wasn’t the younger version of myself anymore, either.  I lightly touched a shaky finger to my eyebrow and noticed the absence of blood.  The welt on my cheek had also disappeared.  As I tiptoed out into the foreign room, carpet gave way to wooden floor beneath my bare feet. Soft evening light cast long shadows across the room, but I was still taken aback by its size and opulence. I could make out the shadowy figure of a woman sitting across the room in a rocking chair, softly crying as she gazed out the window.  She didn’t stir at my entrance, only continued to cry one word over and over with such pain, it broke my heart. 
Anastasia….  Anastasia…

My
eyes jerked open and I instantly whirled around, trying to figure out where I had been transported this time.  Thankfully, I was still seated in 12C amongst the other passengers.  I could feel the frenzied pumping of my heartbeat as I tried to calm my breathing.  It was just a dream. Just a dream. If only it could have been a dream those many years ago.  I touched my eyebrow and rubbed the tiny scar I’d carried with me since I was nine. 

~Ӂ~

“Hannah Whitman?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Kira. I’ll be your personal escort for the next couple of hours.” She swept her slender arm down and bowed dramatically. Wearing short white shorts, a light pink blouse that had fallen off one very tan shoulder, and Rainbow flip flops; she couldn’t have been a day over twenty-one.  Her bright green eyes sparkled and a wide smile lit up her face as she straightened.  She tucked a piece of sun-bleached blonde hair behind her ear and took my carry-on. “So, how was your flight?”

Probably not the best time to bring up my nightmares. “It was pretty uneventful, I guess
.”

“That’s definitely a good thing when all you have betwe
en you and the ground is several miles of air,” she chuckled.  A nervous laugh escaped my lips as we began navigating through the airport.  Glancing sideways at her, I couldn’t help but think about how normal she seemed.  What exactly did Dr. Campbell mean when she said ‘young people like me’?   Is everyone here going to be blacking out randomly during the day and screaming through nightmares at night?  That didn’t seem very likely.

“I was thinking we’d grab something to eat and talk a little bit before getting to the
island. How do you feel about pizza?”  She asked with a smile.  She appeared very at ease in her own body and acknowledged each person we passed with a nod or smile.  She had a glow of happiness that reached out to others, making them smile with her.

“That sounds wonderful
,” I admitted. “I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.” It was almost dinnertime and my stomach was growling loudly.  I would be surprised if she couldn’t hear it.

My eyebrows
shot up as we stepped outside and Kira gestured towards a white Jeep Wrangler with oversized tires waiting at the curb.  I didn’t know what I was expecting.  Maybe a taxi?  Or a van? 

“Your chariot awaits
madam.” She tossed my carry-on into the back seat and I realized we hadn’t picked up the rest of my luggage.  I glanced back towards the doors and turned to say something to Kira.

“The rest of your bags are being taken care of, they’ll be waiting on you when you get to the school.”
I had tried not to bring every piece of clothing I owned, but it was difficult.  After stuffing four bags full of clothes and shoes, I wasn’t looking forward to carrying them all over Wilmington, so the fact that I wouldn’t have to was wonderful. 

I
literally climbed up into the passenger seat while Kira put on silver aviator sunglasses and grinned at me.  She started the jeep and we bounced onto the streets of Wilmington.  Several minutes later, we parked in the lot of a small pizza shop.  We found a vintage-looking wrought iron table outside and Kira ordered peach flavored sweet tea. I decided to give it a try too.

Even though
I couldn’t tell how close we were to the beach, I could smell the hint of salt water in the air.  It was just as humid as Georgia, but much more bearable thanks to a light breeze blowing. I took a deep breath and felt myself relax for the first time in what felt like years.  I could get used to the leisurely pace of the beach.  Everyone who meandered by on the sidewalk was sun-kissed and smiling without a care in the world. A sizzle of excitement ran through me as I thought about the new chapter in my life I was about to begin.

“
So, what do you do at the school?” I questioned.  She looked too young to be a teacher or administrator.

“I’m considered something like
a graduate student and we get credits for mentoring incoming students. I definitely got lucky with my first assignment,” she said, winking at me.

“How long do you mentor me?”

“For as long as you need me,” she answered simply, “So, how much do you know about the House of Lorelei?”

“Honestly, not a whole lot.  All I know is that it’s year round, on an island, and th
e kids there are….like me?”  I was hoping she could shed some light on that last part. A part of me sighed in relief knowing Kira would be my mentor. Feeling a little vulnerable for some reason, I absently looked down at my hands…and gasped.  My ‘tattoo’ was…shimmering?  I twisted my wrist back and forth; squinting to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. Yep, it was definitely doing something weird.  Just then, the waitress came back with our drinks.  Instinctively, I placed my other hand over it to hide it momentarily.  The waitress gave me a weird look, but kept walking to the next table.

“Can
I see?” Kira’s eyes danced with excitement.

“Uh…
it usually doesn’t…do…that.” I held out my arm for her to see my tri-spiral ‘tattoo’.

“
Oh, it’s beautiful!  Mine only does that when I’m in the ocean,” she said, nonchalantly. 

“Yours?”
There’s no way she had the same tattoo.  She must just be trying to make me feel better about hallucinating.

“
Yep, but my trace is on the back of my neck.” She swiveled in her chair and lifted her hair to show me. “See?”

I stoo
d with wobbly legs and walked around the table.  Sure enough, right there on the back of her neck were two birds mid-flight.  I leaned in to get a better look. It did look like mine – not a tattoo, but more like a part of her body. 

“What kind of birds are they?”
I couldn’t hide my amazement.

“Seagulls. 
Unfortunately, they have a bad reputation for stealing your Cheetos when you’re laying out at the beach or for hanging out in grocery store parking lots, but they’re so much more.  Seagulls represent freedom and vitality.  They spend their lives riding the energy above the waves,” she explained with pride.   

“It
’s amazing.” I took one last glance, and then remembered what she’d called it. “You said it’s a…trace?”

“That’s right, we all have one
,” she replied breezily, as if that cleared everything up. “Although, I’ve never seen a design like yours.” She looked like she wanted to say something more, but just then a large, steaming pizza was set down in front of us, overflowing with ooey, gooey cheese.

“
So, do you surf?” she asked between bites.  I noticed she ate her pizza backwards, starting with the crust first.  I made a mental note to try that out next time.

“
I took swimming lessons back in Atlanta and swam at the club pool all the time, but I’ve never been in the ocean,” I explained through bites.  She almost choked.  Once she was done coughing, she stared at me wide-eyed.

“Seriously?  Not at all?  Not even your feet?”
  She eventually picked her chin up off the ground.

“Nope, not one toe
.”

She smiled
wickedly, “That’s definitely going to change.”

After devouring an entire twelve-inch pizza, we jumped back into the Jeep and continued the journey to the House of Lorelei.  Bald Head Island was south of Wilmington, but there were no bridges or roads leading to the island.  When I read that in the pamphlet Dr Campbell had given us, a picture of Alcatraz popped in my head and had remained there ever since.  Something seemed a little too final about a place you couldn’t drive away from. 

About thirty miles later, we
arrived in the small town of Southport.  Small boutiques and coffee shops lined the main road; tourists wove in and out of the stores.  I tried to reign in my hair that was smacking me in the face, as Kira took the right turn toward the Deep Point Marina. The ferry that would be taking us to the island ran every hour during the day and even at night.  From what the pamphlet had said, it was about two miles from Southport to Bald Head Island, which amounted to a twenty minute ferry ride.  We parked the jeep, bought our tickets and got in line.  Waiting with us were families weighed down with beach toys and luggage, couples standing close or holding hands, and several younger girls wearing matching t-shirts with Ebb & Flo’s Oyster Bar and Restaurant written on the back.  A bar for just oysters?  If my memory served me right, oysters were slimy, salty little aliens that came in their original shells.  I remembered trying one when we went to Savannah for St. Patrick’s Day.  It only lasted about two seconds in my mouth before I spit it out in my napkin.  From then on, I vowed to stick to fish and shrimp.

A horn
blared and the ferry slowly docked beside the boardwalk.  Workers jumped in to action as they removed luggage and trunks, sending them down a ramp and onto a moving belt.  The ferry itself was bigger than I expected and packed with visitors leaving the island for the night.  They were all windblown and giddy.  I couldn’t help smiling at them as they filed off the boat.  A little boy walked by with his dad and waved shyly at us.  He was holding a stuffed sea turtle tightly in his arms, but what I noticed first was the red beach bucket he was wearing as a hat.  It was in the shape of a sandcastle and sat a little lopsided.  I waved back and silently mourned my own childhood void of happy memories.

“
Time to go!” Kira clutched my hand with excitement.  We traversed the skinny ramp on to the deck and found seat at the back of the boat.  Never having been on a boat, I was apprehensive, but still excited about the new experience.  The ferry gently swayed back and forth as the rest of the passengers boarded.  I watched a lanky crane glide above and land on one of the pylons nearby.  It stood perfectly still on one leg looking for fish to snag up out of the water.  Several minutes later, the ferry’s engine roared to life and a nervous shiver ran down my spine.  We inched forward, turned left gradually, and made our way past the two pylons, exiting the marina.  As the ferry passed by the crane’s perch, I watched in awe, as it extended its massive wings and took to the sky. 

“Look!”
Kira called above the engine and the wind, “That’s Southport over there to our right,”

A small wooden pier
stretched out into the water, while the same shops and boutiques I had seen before were visible farther back.  A couple of minutes later we made a slow left turn and she pointed again.

“A
nd that’s Fort Caswell on the very end of Oak Island,” she informed me.  The walls of the fort were overgrown with layers of vines and moss, but it was still a majestic sight.  As we rounded the point, the full grandeur of the sun setting over the Atlantic Ocean came into view.  I carefully stood up on the rocking deck and made my way to the side of the ferry to get a better view.  Striking shades of orange, red, and yellow lit up the sky and reflected off the water.  It was magnificent.

“You know, if you look over the side, sometimes you can see dolphins swimmi
ng next to the ferry.” Kira had come to stand beside me.

“Really?”  I lean
ed over the side, precariously, holding on tightly to the railing…just in time for the ferry to run over the wake from a passing boat.  A wall of salt water sprayed up, hitting me square in the face.  I tumbled backwards and fell against Kira. 

“
Aren’t the dolphins just beautiful?!” She doubled over with laughter, while I tried to dry my face. I crossed my arms over my chest and tapped my foot at her.  Finally, she got a hold of herself and looked up at me.  Another bout of laughter overtook her body, as she held onto the railing to keep her balance.

“That was so not funny!”
I giggled and gave her shoulder a little shove. “You did that on purpose!”  My hair and face were completely soaked.  She moved towards me in an attempt to console me, so I took that opportunity to shake my hair out and spray her with pellets of water.  She shrieked and took off towards the back of the boat.  We fell into our seats laughing and wiping water off of our bodies.  I wasn’t usually this gullible, so I decided to keep a watchful eye on Kira. It did feel good to have a little fun without being reminded I needed to ‘act like a lady’.  My wet hair and clothes would have given Dee a coronary.

Eventually
another piece of land came into view up ahead.  I looked at Kira and she promptly announced, “There she is!  Old Baldy!”

“Old Baldy?” I
raised an eyebrow.

“The lighthouse!  It’s called Old Baldy.” I spot
ted a weathered, stone lighthouse rising up over the vacation homes and trees.  The ferry maneuvered into a small marina dotted with sailboats, fishing boats, and one very large yacht.  We parked beside the boardwalk, and I felt the ferry crawl to a stop. 

The horn
sounded again and we descended the exit ramp, following the rest of the passengers along the boardwalk.  Up ahead, Ebb and Flo’s Oyster Bar and Restaurant welcomed the newcomers, as well as several other buildings housing souvenir shops and golf cart rentals.

“So there are no cars on the island at all?”  I ask
ed Kira, even though I already knew the answer. 

“Nope, only golf carts – even the roads are golf cart size!  But we aren’t renting
one; we need to go this way.” She ushered me down a sidewalk and through a small chain link fence. “The school has its own fleet.  We keep some here and the rest are back on school grounds.”  One long row of golf carts stretched out before us.  They weren’t your normal golf carts however…these were black, sleek, and sitting on fat beach tires.  The emblem for the House of Lorelei was on each side.  It was made up of a simple circle containing swooping letter ‘L’.  We climbed into the first cart in the row and Kira stomped on the gas pedal, throwing me against the back of the seat.  I searched around for a seat belt.  The absence of doors in addition to Kira’s questionable driving skills didn’t do much for my quickly building anxiety.

We zipped down the road heading east.  Families riding bikes and
vacationers in other golf carts waved as we passed.  Bald Head Island sat between the Cape Fear River and the Atlantic Ocean. The island’s western side housed the marina, shops and the lighthouse, while the southern side was the most populated, boasting sprawling vacation homes and beautiful beaches.  The northern section of the island was made up of marshland and largely uninhabitable.  The House of Lorelei was located on the eastern side, facing the Atlantic Ocean.  The entire island was full of lush trees and plant life, with the most prevalent being the live oak tree.  Many years of constant wind had twisted and mangled their branches, forging works of art that stretched over the road, creating an enchanting canopy of green. 

The skin on m
y wrist began tingling and I glanced down to see if there was something crawling on me. Instead, I noticed my trace was not only still shimmering; it had started to change colors, as well.  The once black lines were now a silvery blue.  Fortunately, my bewilderment was quickly interrupted by the huge ornate, iron gate we were now stopped in front of.  Unless you were directly in front of it, you could easily miss the school’s entrance.  Ivy and moss twisted around and over the gate making it look as much a part of the landscape as the live oaks.  Beneath the overgrowth, the House of Lorelei emblem adorned both sides of the iron bars. My stomach began doing flip-flops in anticipation.  Ever so slowly, the gate swung inward and we drove onto the school grounds.

O
nce we were clear of the gate, Kira hit the gas again and I held on for dear life for another half mile or so.  Gray stone walls lined the road, weathered by wind and time.  The campus of the House of Lorelei unfolded before us, as we rounded a sharp corner. Buildings made of the same weathered gray stone stood on every side of us, appearing very gothic in the hooded light of the setting sun.  We came to an abrupt halt in front of a two story building, and Kira motioned for me to follow her in.

“Before I take you to Maren Hall where you’ll be living, we need to take care of a couple
minor details,” she explained.  Once inside, we entered a small office labeled ‘Kira Baylor’.

“Okay.  Let’s see, let’s see…” She shuffled through some papers on her desk, “Here’s your meal card; it works all over the island, not just on campus.  And here’s the key to the suite you’ll be sharing with your new roommates.”  She handed me a black debit card and a small manila envelope with a key inside.  She produced several blank forms and began filling them out.

“The name
‘Hannah Elizabeth Whitman’ was given to you by the state of Georgia, correct?”

“Just the
‘Hannah Elizabeth’ part.  ‘Whitman’ came from my adoptive family,” I clarified.  As she continued filling out more information, I got an idea.  If I was going to be starting a new beginning, I might as well make it official.

“
So, if a person wanted to change their name now that they are beginning a new school and have the rare opportunity to recreate themselves…as it were…would that be an option?” I asked hesitantly.

She looked
up and smiled knowingly. “And what would said person want to change their name to?”  Only one name came to mind.

“Anastasia.”

She gave me an odd look and quickly directed her gaze back down to the paper. “Okay, Anastasia,” She put emphasis on my new first name and scribbled something down on the form. “Name officially changed. Now let’s go introduce you to your new suitemates!”

Back in the golf cart, we pass
ed several more gray stone buildings and turned onto a cobblestone street lined with little shops on either side.  The golf cart’s large beach tires had us bouncing around like a demented carnival ride.  By the time the shops ran out and the road changed back to smooth pavement, we were both laughing hysterically. 

“Normally w
e don’t drive down that section,” Kira explained sheepishly, as she wiped a couple of happy tears from her cheek. “But sometimes it’s just fun to do.”  Several looming buildings to my right caught my attention.

“Here we are!”
I looked up in wonder at a seven story building, resembling a medieval beach resort.  The constant roar of the ocean greeted me as we walked up the stone steps of Maren Hall.  The strong smell of sea grass filled my nose and the warm nighttime air tickled my skin, as it swirled around me.  The gothic feel of the exterior stopped abruptly at the front doors.   The extensive lobby was filled with large, overflowing brown leather couches and chairs.  Flat screen TV’s hung on several of the walls and an enormous fish tank was set into the wall on my left, exotic-looking fish cruising along its length.  Straight ahead, more doors led out to blackness.  Kira’s eyes followed mine.

“Maren is on
e of the two oceanfront halls.  The other is Rostrum Hall next door, which is one of the guy’s halls.”  This was too good to believe.  My new home would be oceanfront?  I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been to the beach and now I’d be living on it!

We
rode a sleek elevator to the third floor and came to a stop at a normal-looking door labeled 327.  Kira knocked three times and I heard a pair of feet running towards us.