His Dark Ways (6 page)

“Whoa,” I say as a response to Dad’s awkward partially nude morning dance.

Mom’s almost shouting on the other line. It must be hard to hear over the people in the hospital. “Savanna, honey? You there?”

Her voice beams my brain back to earth and reminds of how much I really do miss her. “Mom? Hi.”

She’s crying. “Sweetie, I miss you, oh God, I miss you.” She catches her breath and continues. “How are you?”

“Tired today, but missing you too. How’s the hospital coming along?”

“Perfectly, it may be done a month earlier than planned. God’s been good. How’s senior year going?” A small laugh comes through. “I can’t believe I just asked you that question.”

“It’s going really great. Mr. Stevens encouraged me to write this essay for a competition NASA’s putting on, so I’ve been working on that.”

“I’m actually not surprised at all he would encourage you up that path. I’m so proud of you. You’ve always been so smart.”

“Dad says I get that from you.”

“Does he now?” There’s a happy sigh and then a whisper. “How is he, really?”

I hear the can opener coming from the kitchen. Dad must be feeding Red—thank goodness. I’m not in the mood to be grilled about what he overheard me say to Mom. I turn my chair back toward my desk. “He’s okay. I think he’s just stressed about the holidays coming.”

Mom’s silent. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her the truth—it always makes her feel worse being so far from home. I quickly try to reassure her. “But I’m going to make sure to help him lots.”

“Make sure to remind him that people are willing to help and that he can’t do everything.”

“I will, Mom.”

Someone’s talking to her in French, I barely understand. The only words I make out are United Nations. “Tell your father I’ll call later this week, take care sweetheart, I’ll be home before you know it.”

A swell of sadness resonates around my heart making it beat heavier. I just want her home. “I can’t wait, Mom.” Static starts to cut through the line. “Stay safe, miss you.”

Bits of a sentence make it through. “You too, miss you more. Never stop praying.”

I put her words together of what I think she said and the dial tone is all that’s left on the other side of the line. I slump my shoulders and peer up at my cork board. A picture takes my memories back to my time in Africa. I miss the friends I made there, the villages of people, and how their simplistic ways of living were magical. It wasn’t the type of magic that’s made up in movies, but the real kind, the pure love kind that sends warmth down to your soul and leaves a warm fuzzy as it moves through one person and on to the next. Maybe that’s why Mom’s always there?

Dad’s standing in the door frame. Before I look at him I wipe some tears from my face. He reaches in for a hug. “I miss her too.”

My emotions are heightened, probably because I’m exhausted—Daniel was worth it. I grasp onto my stomach again thinking about him.

Dad’s worried eyes have been triggered. “You are staying home today. I know you’re not a fan of sick days, but you’re gonna have one.”

I scrunch up my cheeks and give him a half smile. “Okay. And Mom said she’ll call you later this week.”

“All right, do you need me to get you anything? I can run to the store or put on the tea pot.”

Now that he brought up tea, fluids do sound good. “Maybe just some water?” I taste my pallet with my tongue—dry.

“All right, but you better be in bed by the time I get back with that glass. You don’t look too good. Should I stay home today too?”

I laugh as I head to bed and slip down to my underwear beneath my sheets. “Dad, I’m seventeen, I’ll be fine.”

When he returns and places a hand on my shoulder his hand is cold from the glass he placed on my nightstand. I must be fading into dreamland—fast. The last words I hear are Dad’s praying for my health.

It’s already dark when I wake up—I wait for the blur in my eyes to fade so I can make out the slowly ticking clock. “Shit, it’s ten thirty.” It’s like I’m on Amy’s sleep schedule, not mine. It’s rare for me to sleep like this. I really must not be feeling well. Mom’s told me ever since I was little that an intelligent mind is hard to turn off and that’s why I’ve never been able to sleep a normal eight hours. She’s always had a way of making me feel better about myself when I don’t.

There’s a cute cup of tea on a green saucer with a note sitting on the nightstand—it reminds me of one of my favorite stories, Alice in Wonderland.

Hope you’re feeling better. I stopped by El Marquez and picked up your favorite soup. It’s next to the oven.

Love You,

Dad

I dip the top of my finger into the tea—frigid. As I peer toward the window relief sweeps over me that stars have already filled up the sky. After last night, I’m not sure I would have made it through the day without seeing Daniel.

For some quick nourishment, I drink the tea as fast as I can. Drops of liquid roll down my chin and I cup my hand under it to keep the mess from making its way down my shirt. I head to the bathroom and water is the first thing that comes to mind—I splash it all over my face while slurping some of it from cupped hands. I undo my braid, clip my hair back half way, and brush my teeth.

“What to wear? What to wear?” I say to myself as I scour my room and find an old pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a hand me down red flannel shirt that Amy gave me freshman year. I nearly fall backwards trying to pull my shit kickers on as I quietly head out the backdoor.

The cloud of pogonip lying over the valley attempts to cling to my fingers, trying to mimic what it’s doing to the trees. It’s come early and makes the bite of the cold that much harder to take into my lungs as I breathe. The Natives that still live in these areas say it means white death. But it looks nothing like death; it’s just a heavy fog brimming over the desert and covering the trees with what looks like bursting spring flowers.

I try to encourage myself with a pep talk, “Only two miles, only two miles, only—”

I’m almost a half mile in when I see Daniel walking toward me. He’s not ghostly this time—he’s real without my touch. It’s as if holding onto each other through the night fueled the atoms of his being and made him real, unfaded. My cheeks begin to burn, I’m over smiling, and try to lick my lips and stretch my jaw to get myself to knock it off, but it’s impossible—he’s already stolen my heart. His hands are hidden deep in his coat pockets and his head’s turned toward the ground as he walks. One dimple’s visible—he’s smiling too.

We stop ten feet in front of each other and I look up at the sky. We’re under my favorite constellation, Cassiopeia, and he already knows my thoughts. “So why is Cassiopeia your favorite?”

“She revolves around the polar star, so half the time she’s obliged to sit upside down. Her curse has always fascinated me.”

“Cursed, huh?” He moves in close and touches my fingers. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m okay, see, I put on flannel.”

He reaches in close and lifts up my shirt from both ends examining it as if it’s a canvas and he’s the artist. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen checkered flannel like this. I like it.”

As he lets go and the fabric falls back against my stomach, goose bumps shiver up my torso. As I watch his hands fiddle with my shirt, I remember the promise he made last night. “Are you ready to play the piano?”

He thinks a moment while licking his lips. “Yes, but I must admit, it’s been a very long time.”

I hold up a scouts honor. “Promise, I won’t judge.”

“Where is this piano you speak of?”

I step in front of him and walk backwards. “Follow me.” My curls brush over my shoulders as I turn into the wind. Daniel notices and touches a strand gravitating toward him. Seeing him wanting to hold a piece of me like last night warms me from the inside out and I forget about the cold trying to dust me with frost.  

“You are one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.”

Being with him just keeps getting better. I turn back around with heated cheeks because the more we hold onto one another the easier it’s becoming to hear his thoughts as though they are my own. I don’t say anything with my lips, and tell him I think the same about him.

It doesn’t take long for us to be standing on the steps of the church. As I find the key under a loose deck board, Daniel stands, looking dazed, at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you okay?”

With a nod he gently steps onto white chipped paint as he ascends the stairs and follows me inside.

The first thing people usually look at when they come in here is Jesus. It’s impossible to miss the sight of what used to be a large theatre prop in Vegas. But Daniel walks straight to the piano as if it’s the only thing he can see as I shut the door.

He glides his fingers across the white piano that’s been in our family before my great grandmother and takes a seat. For a moment he tinkers by wiping bits of dust off ivory keys like he’s getting the feel for it again and closes his eyes.

Fast fingers slide over keys. If air was visible it would be rippling under his hands the way water does when it’s touched. The music now ricocheting off church walls and into my ears is unlike anything I’ve ever heard—nearly alien. It reminds me of a dream I had once where I woke up and couldn’t recall what I heard or saw, but I wanted to remember more than anything. As I walk in between the pews, I keep my feet soft and sit toward the front. Heaven’s supposed to play music constantly and if it’s anything like this I could understand why Mom and Dad always say they want to go.

Clouds travel away from the moon and allow it to swathe the interior of the church with stripes of light. As I look back at Daniel, he’s dimming and I’m not sure if it’s because of the new light or if it’s because I’m not holding onto him. Without a second thought, I get up and change my seat—next to his. Heavy gloss painted on the bench makes it easy to slide up next to him and I pair my thigh with his—he’s no longer faded. His right hand slows on the keys as he takes a peek at me.

“Sorry, I get distracted when it comes to music, especially after hearing you sing last night. It’s been so long.”

The way his eyes refuse to shift away from mine slams my heart against my chest like a hammer. Piano chords come to an end and his hands are draped around the sides of my face. We pause for a moment and his thumb gently rubs my bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?”

My answer is to press my lips on his. The hammer in my chest tries to break free and shatters my nerves instead. In the pit of my stomach, blood drains in leaving an intense pulse, I’ve felt butterflies before, but this can’t be it. Butterflies are light—fluffy. This is different—it’s heavy and channeling straight to my soul.

We are still kissing when numbness decorates my lips—something’s wrong. He’s now only transparent. His eyes fill with terror and I can’t make out any of the words that are trying to flee from his lips. Is he suffocating?

“No,” I say in a light breath. It’s almost as if I’m screaming but can’t because I don’t want to make things worse if he is slipping back into the other world filled with monsters. I reach out trying to pull him back to this world, but he’s gone. What did I do? Maybe letting him walk alone, without me, caused him to die like an uncharged battery. Is this my fault?

All I’m left with is his last thought that things look unfamiliar—he’s lost, and doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find me again.  

My stomach aches once more, but the pain’s intensified—I clutch on, and lay my head down over the piano. He’s close, I know it—I wait, and choose not to believe his last thought.    

Dad’s poking my shoulder. “Savanna?”

The morning sun nearly blinds me as I try to catch a glimpse of his face. The pain has gone. “Dad?”

“Why are you here? Did you walk?”

It’s too early to think of any clever excuses. “Yeah.”

“Come on,” he says with an outstretched hand, “is this why you haven’t been feeling well? You’ve been sneaking out?”

I try blinking away sleepy eyes, it doesn’t work—they burn from a night of insomnia. Dad’s concerned face is on, I know that look anywhere. “Have you been throwing parties in here?”

I sit up and pull my knees into my chest and lay my arms over them. “No, Dad—”

He interrupts, “Then what?”

He pulls out His Dark Ways from under his arm, “Is this what you’ve been doing? Where did you even get this?”

I stand up and face my “sin” like a big girl. “A book store.”

His right hand rests on my shoulder and quickly turns into a tight grip. I get the unsettling feeling he’s going to start shaking me to get his point across. “Really, Savanna, how many times do I have to tell you this will only open doors you can never close again. It’s playing with fire! The decisions you make now will affect the rest of your life.”

“Dad, it’s not like that for me, you know I don’t believe in all this stuff,” I mumble, “religion.”

“Yet, here you are, in the church?”

I stay quiet and imagine an eye roll so he can’t see it.

“Fine, I get it, I went through a time like that in my life too, I just want you to respect me enough to not bring this stuff into our home and be sneaking out. You’re getting older, but as long as you’re still living with me and your mom, I need to know where you are.”

“All right, I’m sorry.”

His face gets long and the wrinkles around his mouth crease deeper as disappointment seems to overshadow him. “Please just go home and get ready for school.”

When I get home, I clench my teeth together while holding onto the outsides of my desk—my palms get sweaty as I grip the wood tighter. Tears wet the papers strewn all over from the morning before and I let out a scream when I see my handwriting making out Daniel’s name all over one of them.

Chapter 8

Afflicted

My body quivers as I sit in the school parking lot waiting for the bell to ring from inside my truck. Its torture watching Lucky and Amy walk in with their guys—I start talking to myself while swaying back and forth. “Real flesh, real flesh, why can’t Daniel have real flesh?”

The bell breaks me from what feels like a spell and I toss my backpack over my shoulder and head to class. There’s no one around—exactly what I want. I hike my hood over mangled hair and avoid eye contact with anyone left in the hallways. I’ve never sat in the back of Mr. Stevens’s class, but today that all changes. I don’t want to be here. As I take a seat, Krystal’s green eyes are examining me. It’s obvious she’s trying to tell me to move without saying a word. She’s used to me sitting up front, away from her and now she’s all pissed that I’m interrupting her regularly scheduled programming. My eyes are raw—red from the outside in. I turn toward her with a deep booming voice, “BOO!”